


Cold Side of the Moon

by RZZMG



Series: Hermione x Draco x Theodore stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acromantulas, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Forest, Hunted, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Magic, Magical Creature Mating, Plot Twists, Prisoner of War, Survival Games, Survival Horror, Violence, Werewolf!Draco, Werewolf!Theodore, dub-con, werewolf!hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Released from Azkaban and tossed into the Forbidden Forest for Voldemort's entertainment, Hermione Granger must escape the predators and survive for eight days to earn her freedom. She doesn't expect to make it, especially knowing Draco Malfoy, half-breed werewolf, is somewhere in the forest, too, just waiting for the next victim of The Games to arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-Hogwarts, A/U (2013 – Voldemort wins the war).
> 
> This was my entry for the 2013 HP DarkArts "In The Shadow of the Soul" Fest (hp-darkarts.livejournal.com). 
> 
> Here was the prompt I worked from: _Lycanthropy, Lycanthropic infection; Ships: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger x Theodore Nott_
> 
> Thank you to the Mods for hosting this fantastic fest! I had so much fun & was inspired for this fic. I'm glad it was on time to participate.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Additional Notes:
> 
>  
> 
> Thaddeus Thurkell is a character from a Chocolate Frog card whose history I took great liberties playing with for this fic. 
> 
> There really is a pack of wolves (born of two Werewolves who mated under a full moon) that roam the Forbidden Forest, per JKR's canon. I capitalised on that fact for this story. 
> 
> The Cold Moon is the actual nickname for the first full moon in December (also called the Oak Moon or the Long Nights Moon). 
> 
> I shamelessly borrowed the idea of a prisoner survival game from Stephen King's "The Running Man", I admit, so all kudos to him. 
> 
> I also shamelessly borrowed from Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland" - see if you can pinpoint where in the story. :)

****

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY ONE** _**  
** _

***.*.*.*.*.***

Huddling into as small a presence as possible in the corner of her dank cell, Hermione kept quiet, remained still, and tried to stay out of the light coming in through the small window far above. The luminous fairy glow of the newly rising Cold Moon—the first full moon in December—bathed her ten-by-ten foot world in silver and shadow... and signalled the doom of one of the many prisoners kept here within the walls of what had once been the most secure, magical fortress in the world.

Azkaban, the once great bastion of the Thurkell family had been given to the British Ministry of Magic upon its landowner's death in 1692, as Thaddeus Thurkell had born no magical children, only Squibs. The Ministry had immediately turned the remote castle into a maximum-security prison, magically altering it to serve their purposes, and bringing in Dementors to be its permanent guards.

After Harry had fallen to Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, Azkaban had become the Dark Lord's personal Keep. Riddle, apparently, liked its isolated and nigh-inaccessible location, and the man had a thing about keeping his favourite prisoners close at hand.

Footsteps approached down the corridor, and she held her breath. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that it was painful, but still she strained to hear, trying to discern whether the footsteps would pass her door or...

The door to her cell opened, and she felt a queer recipe of both despair and relief pass through her as a familiar, inexplicable tingle slid up and down her spine, and the masculine, wraith-like whisper of  _'Mine'_ echoed once again through her head.

She knew the identity of this visitor.

"On your feet," Theodore Nott, Azkaban's Head Gaoler, commanded. She'd recognize his body's silhouette and his voice anywhere, as he'd been one of her 'admirers' around this place. The left side of her throat, which continuously bore the bruising marks from his perverted biting habit whenever he forced himself upon her (he had a thing for imprinting his teeth into her flesh), began involuntarily throbbing. It was as if she'd developed some freakish Pavlovian myclonic twitch in reaction to his presence. Thank Godric he'd never actually drawn blood, or she'd begin to suspect him of being a Vampire or Ghoul.

Using the wall to support her shaky legs, she did as commanded and crossed to him, knowing that it was finally her turn to die, and feeling somewhat liberated at that thought. It was funny and a little ironic that freedom in Voldemort's New World Order was synonymous with a longing for death.

Before they could move into the hall, Nott reached out and tangled his fingers through her long, snarled hair, pulling her close. His body was hard and hot against hers. Using pressure, he forced her chin up so their eyes would meet. The moonlight reflected in the amber-brown of his irises, but they were as fathomless to her as the ocean pounding against the rock walls outside. His free hand pushed her long, shapeless shift she wore to her hips. Hermione whimpered, clamping her thighs together to prevent him from enjoying a final shag with her. If she was going to die, she'd at least go out with some bit of dignity intact.

To her surprise, however, rather than Nott taking something from her, he shoved something down the front of her knickers. The soft, fist-sized item was light, and made of some sort of velvety fabric. "Open it only once you're alone," he offered, "but  _before_  you're dropped into the forest. It'll make the difference between life and death."

"Why–?" she began, but he shook her once to shut her up.

"No time for your inane questions. Just heed me. It's your turn for the game. You'll be dropped off at the Forbidden Forest. If you can, make it to the spot where that oaf of a gamekeeper once had his cottage eight days from now – at dawn," he told her, his voice low so only she could hear. "Someone will be there for you. Might be me, might be someone else you don't know. Only approach them if they're wearing a red bandana around their arm. It will match the one I've put in your bag. Put it on your arm as well. It's a signal you'll each recognise. Understand?" He pulled her wrists up to check the magical bands that had constrained her since she'd first arrived in the prison years earlier. "Your contact will get the bands off your wrists, and the Dark Lord will think you're dead the minute the magic is severed. You'll be free. Go with that person, and they'll care for you, if it's not me." He tiled her chin up, forcing her to meet his intense gaze again. "Got all that? A red bandana around your arm. Eight mornings from now at dawn. Hagrid's old cottage. Repeat it."

Confused, she slowly nodded. "Hagrid's. Red. Arm. Eight. Dawn."

Theodore nodded. "Good. And for Salazar's sake, if you hear howling, don't run," he warned her. "You'll only spur on his thrill for the hunt, Granger -  _especially_ you, if you're legging it. Just stay still. Don't encourage his instincts."

She frowned, her mind spinning over his words. "Me? Why? Who?"

"Draco. He's been punished for too many failures. The Dark Lord let Fenrir bite him fifteen years ago. He's been living in the forest since, gone feral. He doesn't change back."

Hermione gaped. "He's the reason for the sacrifices. Why every full moon-"

"Someone here is taken away, yes," Nott confirmed for her. "It's one of the Dark Lord's little side games to keep the Death Eaters entertained so they won't become complacent and bored: betting on survivors." He gave her a grim look. "He mostly uses Muggle-borns and those members of your resistance that he's caught. Last month, it was Parvati Patil."

The sound of another approaching from down the hall made the both of them freeze. An " _Alohamora"_  was called out by another familiar voice, and the hinges of the great oak door down the far end creaked as it was pushed open.

"Don't forget: Hagrid's old cottage, a red arm band, eight mornings from now. And check the pouch I gave you sometime before you're dropped off at the forest. I'm just... sorry that I can't do more," Theo stated, his tone resolved. "I'm close to being discovered as it is. This is the best I can give you for now."

"I don't understand why you'd–" she began, but Nott dropped his mouth and bit down over her throat once more, this time breaking skin and drawing blood. She screamed as he sucked on the wound. Her shift was dropped from her hips to cover her legs and to hide the gift he'd given her.

A set of boots trundled up to them, and stopped a foot or so away. "Enjoying a last taste?" Blaise Zabini asked, chuckling. She recognised his voice as well; he'd been one of the most sadistic of her tormentors. He'd never raped her, per Nott's orders, but he'd made things hell for her, by withholding food and water and yelling cruel epithets at her. When she'd first come to the prison, he'd been the one to torture her to get information out of her regarding the remaining members of the Order, who were still free then. He'd broken her bones with spells and invaded her mind with Legilimency.

In a phrase, she hated Blaise Zabini, and wouldn't mind watching him fall on a sharp, hot poker.

"I bet Granger was a sweet piece of arse. I'm almost jealous that you never let me have a taste, Nott. 'Course I wouldn't want to risk catching what that bastard Macnair gave her when you weren't looking that one time, Anti-Disease Charms or not. I hear it's some fatal Muggle pox he caught while trolling the lower levels."

Nott licked her bloody essence off his bottom lip as he pulled away. "I'd have killed you if you'd touched her without my permission."

"Like you killed Macnair?" Blaise's dark eyes danced with sadistic merriment.

Theodore refused to answer. Even she knew he'd never have admitted such a thing aloud to another Death Eater, even though everyone suspected that he'd been the one responsible for Macnair's long dive off the top of the prison's roof last year.

As she reached up to cover the wound on her neck, feeling the sting from having had her flesh punctured by Nott's sharp teeth, Hermione secretly hoped once more that the man caught the HIV infection that Macnair had passed onto her when he'd snuck into her cell that one day last year when the Head Gaoler was otherwise occupied. Nott may pretend to be her Dark Knight-Protector, but the fact was he was no different from any of the other men working for Tom Riddle; they were all of them rapists and butchers. A long, drawn-out and painful death would serve Theodore Nott right, in her opinion. Maybe he'd even pass the illness on to his fellow Death Eaters somehow and Voldemort's regime would be destroyed not by magic, but by AIDS. It would serve them all, she thought, to die in some inglorious way, ironically conquered by a Muggle disease.

Nott looked down at her once more and gave a mock sigh. "It's really too bad. She was my favourite of them. Looks like you're going to have to share the Weasley bint with the rest of us now."

Hermione gasped. Ginny was alive? In all the years she'd been a prisoner, she hadn't seen hide or hair of any of the Weasleys... but she'd heard horrible rumours about each of their demises. She'd believed them all gone, wiped out as blood traitors under Voldemort's edict. If Nott's words were true and Ginny was a prisoner here, too, then how much of what she'd heard about the others was a lie as well? Was Ron alive, or Molly and Arthur? Was Remus? Neville? Luna? Tonks? McGonagall?

Zabini growled. "Not a chance. She's my little red bird, caged away just for me in my home. I'll not share her with any of you fuckers." He gave Hermione a feral, cruel grin. "Ginevra was my reward for  _exceptional_ services rendered to our Master, you see."

Nott's next words froze Hermione's heart, and dashed the tiny bit of hope she'd managed to squirrel away within the depths of her heart over the last few minutes.

"You mean for trapping and killing the Weasel King?"

The tall, dark Slytherin's grin flashed even whiter in the dim lighting of the enclosed corridor. "Yes, for trapping and killing little Ronnikins."

To her chagrin, tears flooded Hermione's vision. In all the years she'd been a slave, she'd thought she'd hardened herself against pain, humiliation, and shame. It seemed she was still very much capable of being hurt.

With an evil snicker, Zabini stepped closer and leaned down until their noses almost touched. "I cut his head off and fed it to the crows," he whispered and pressed a mocking kiss to the corner of her lips.

Nott snarled an animal-like warning, but before he could move to pull her away from Zabini, Hermione raised her arm and slapped Blaise across the cheek as hard as she could. His head turned with the force of the blow.

Zabini's reaction was instantaneous. "Fucking bitch whore!" he roared, and raised his hand to rain down blows upon her.

Theodore caught the man's arm before it could fall, and in a quick move she'd never have anticipated her jailer capable of performing, twisted the arm behind Zabini's back and shoved his fellow Death Eater's face into the stone wall nearby. "I'd hate to rip it off. I know it's your wand arm," he warned the tall Italian.

Zabini winced as Theodore shifted his hold, and it was clear that Nott had his opponent in such a way that he could easily pop the guy's joint, maybe even break his wrist.

"Besides, our Lord is waiting, Blaise. I'm sure he'd be very displeased if you roughed Granger here up, given his plans for her. He's so looking forward to seeing if she can outwit Malfoy, and maybe even kill him, rumoured as she is to being the brightest witch of our age. If you ruin her chances, he'll most likely be very cross with both you and me... and I won't have that. So, are we good here?"

Zabini gritted his teeth and sneered as he submitted to Nott's dominant hold.

"Good to know." Theodore let the man go, stepping back to Hermione's side.

Zabini turned, rubbing his shoulder, and threw a glaring promise for retribution at his former Slytherin Housemate. He then turned on Hermione, a sadistic smirk transforming his handsome face into a mask of ugliness. "You're luckier than your red-headed friend is going to be once I get home," he promised her with venom, and turned on his heel, heading back down the corridor towards the exit. "You'd better hurry up, Nott. We've got a revel to start. It's Christmas, after all, and our Great Lord can't be kept waiting!"

"Bastard," she hissed after Zabini, not caring if it earned her punishment. What more could they do to her, really? "I hope he takes a hard tumble off the top of the roof, too."

"He just might," Theodore said, almost a bit too casually. Gently, he took her by the arm, avoiding touching her wrist shackle. "Come on. Just keep up the act a little longer, and then you'll be free."

As they marched towards Voldemort's throne room in the centre of the fortress so she could hear her formal sentencing, Hermione wondered whether Theodore's last words were meant for her or for himself.


	2. Chapter 2

She'd been prepared when she'd been taken up by broom over the Forbidden Forest and dropped from a height far above the tree line by a chortling Rosier. Still, Hermione screamed all the way down, until she'd managed to get the cloak bespelled with a Hover Charm that Theodore had gifted her spread out around her body to break her fall.

With the cloak under her, she'd stopped an arm's length shy of smashing into a thick branch beneath the canopy, arrested in the air and then slowly floating downward until the temporary spell wore off and her feet touched the spongy, leaf-strewn floor of the forest.

As soon as she was down, she slid the cloak over her shoulders and tied it off around her middle to provide warmth, and then reached into the bag Theodore had given her for other essentials.

On the broom ride from Hogsmeade, where she'd been Apparated to after leaving Azkaban, she'd had a chance to discover that the little pouch she'd been bequeathed by Nott had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extensions Charm and contained a number of useful items to help her survive the night in the Forbidden Forest. Unfortunately, a wand wasn't among the things provided (not that she could have used one with the magic-dampening shackles still firmly in place around her wrists), but there had been the woollen cloak with a note pinned to the collar stating 'USE ME UPON FALLING', Bluebell Flames trapped inside an unbreakable glass jar, a serrated table knife, a red arm bandana, a rolled brown paper bag containing dried strips of beef, a metal flask filled with drinking water, and a peculiar vial containing some sort of pale pink liquid labelled 'WHEN HOPE FAILS, DRINK ME'. Unstoppering the vial, she'd sniffed and instantly recognized the scent of Valerian root, the main ingredient in the Draught of Living Death. The dosage, she'd assessed, would be enough to put her into an indefinite slumber, and she'd decided that Theodore had been kind enough to give her a means of accepting her death if it was inevitable and she didn't want to face it.

The woods were snow-covered and nearly pitch black, but she worried about using the Bluebell Flames to provide some heat and to help light her way, knowing it would act as a signal flare, allowing hunting beasts, like the pack of giant wolves known to roam this forest, to home in on her. On the flipside, she knew its bright glow would keep certain other predators at bay, especially those that preferred the stygian darkness – like Acromantulas and Blood-Sucking Bugbears. Weighing the pros versus the cons, she choose to use the glass jar with the metal handle to help guide her steps, and after tying off the bag to her belt, she palmed the knife, just in case.

The first hour had been tense, as Hermione traversed the wintry gloom, her footsteps unnaturally loud in the silent, snow-crusted forest. That alone had her on edge, as it told her one of two things: either there were no birds in the area, or they knew enough to keep quiet, which generally indicated predators were nearby.

By the second hour, she stopped to rest inside the rotted husk of an old tree, finding its narrow opening, yet wide space inside a temporary safe shelter. She sipped from her small canteen and gobbled down one of the dried jerky strips, and then used her knife to cut off the hem of her shift from the knees down so she'd have the ability to run or climb, if necessary. It meant her shins would be exposed if she happened into deeper snow, but she'd take the chance. Checking the bottom of her worn boots—the only shoes she'd ever been allowed since becoming a prisoner years back—she thought the leather soles too thin, but adequate enough for getting over rocks and scrambling up trees. They were soaked, though, as they didn't have a Waterproof Charm upon them.

Cradling the Bluebell Flames jar close and wrapping the cloak around her like a blanket, she curled up into a ball and rested for a bit. She kept her knife in hand as she closed her eyes, figuring that if she were attacked by some creature, she'd defend herself as best as possible… and if that failed, there was always the potion.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, the lonely howl of a wolf jarred her awake.

With no way to measure time, and the sky blocked by the canopy above, she had no idea how long she'd been asleep, but surely it couldn't have been that long a time. Sandy-headed, she stayed still, coming to full consciousness, slowing her breathing, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart.

Was it a member of the wolf pack, or Malfoy, or was it something else entirely?

A snorting, wuffing, sniffing-like noise came from somewhere off to the left, as if something was picking up her scent.

Should she stay still, as Nott had insisted, or did she run? What if the thing sniffing her out wasn't Malfoy, but some other large predator? Did she risk it?

The snuffling noise got louder, and with it came some sort of grunting that didn't sound at all like a wolf or a Werewolf, as she remembered Professor Lupin to have sounded. It sounded like a bear or a lion... both of whom had really big teeth and claws that liked to rend flesh open before the feasting began.

Her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.

Uh, yes, it was time to go. She'd risk it.

Quickly shuttering the make-shift Bluebell Flame lantern by shoving it back into the bag at her side and slipping her arms back through the sleeves of the parka-styled cloak, she gripped the knife tighter, and stared out into the darkness, hoping the beast after her was nowhere nearby.

She counted to ten, and then squirmed out of her shelter, running full out towards the right, praying she didn't smash into any trees. There was just enough light for her to see their darker outlines, but not enough to distinguish their types… or how low their branches may be. Very soon, she was covered in scratches as she flew by sharp limbs, and once, she'd even gotten her cloak tangled, and had to snap a branch in half to get free. The sharp cracking sound that had made was loud even to her ears.

Somewhere behind her, she heard bestial growling, and knew her assailant had caught up to her. His panting breath and the heavy crunching of his feet in the needles and leaves was as loud as her own, and it spurred her on.

How close was he? Oh, God!

Without night vision, it was impossible to see the way the forest floor dipped, and with no depth perception in the darkness, she was taken by total surprise when the ground suddenly gave out under her… just as a large, black paw grabbed at her hair, snagging a few threads and yanking them out of her skull.

Tumbling and rolling down at steep, fern and vine padded embankment, her shins and ribs smashed into rocks on the way down. She screamed until all the breath was knocked from her as her body skidded to a stop… right into the cold waters of a ford. The gravel lining the bottom of the narrow stream dug into the skin of her palms and cheek. Water rushed by, and she coughed and spit as it streamed into her mouth.

Lifting her head with some pain, she fought off a bout of nausea as dizziness assailed her senses. "Run, Hermione, run," she whispered to herself, pushing up on her elbows, getting her knees under her.

It was just as she managed to get to her feet that she realized she'd lost her knife somewhere in the tumble. Just as that sunk in, something big crashed down the hillside after her, and that was her signal to forget about trying to find her weapon and just  _move._

Hobbling through the water, she got to the other side of the ford and climbed the embankment, her ears ringing, telling her she might have been concussed in the fall – that, on top of wrenching her right knee and spraining her left wrist. Still, she fought on, refusing to lie down and die.

She'd made it as far as the moss-covered bank when she was slammed from behind by something large, extremely heavy, and furry. Its claws dug into the soft flesh of her shoulders, and a short snout full of sharp, curved teeth appeared in her peripheral vision, through the wavering curtain of her tears. The creature made a deep snuffling noise through its nose as it smelled her hair, and she knew by the sound that it was most likely a Blood-Sucking Bugbear that had tackled her to the ground, as that same rumbling huff had been described in  _The Monster Book of Monsters_  as being unique to the species.

She was finished. Bugbears were a smaller relative of the Grizzly, but were equally as lethal. They were, in fact, known man-eaters.

A snapping, canine snarl came from somewhere close by, and she felt the Bugbear's interest suddenly shift, its massive head swinging away as it was surprised by another predator appearing on the scene. A second later, the weight upon her was dislodged, as something equally as big as the bear tackled the creature and knocked it off of her in a tumble of limbs, claws, and teeth.

A vicious fight ensued, with the sound of snarling, barking, growling dog meeting the roar of bear. Hermione used the distraction to try to get away, but she'd been seriously wounded, and the best she could manage was some pathetic inching away as she used what little strength was left in her body to edge as far away from the combat.

Behind her, there was a surprised bay from the bear, as if it had been seriously wounded, and then the sounds of it shambling off, giving up the battle.

Every limb shaking, Hermione managed to flip over and miraculously found the pouch Theodore had given her attached to her cloak's wrap. Reaching in, she mentally summoned the vial. Maybe she could shove it down the victor's throat, and use that chance to escape…

The Werewolf–for that was what had fought off the Bugbear, she now saw–reached out and slapped her arm away from the bag before she could grasp the ampoule. She felt the wrist bones crack, a sharp pain that shot up her arm and into the back of her skull, and knew he'd broken at least one, if not more bones with that large, hybrid hand of his.

Despairing, knowing her death was eminent, Hermione began to softly cry in earnest. Why hadn't she taken the contents of the vial when she'd been holed up in the hollow of that tree? At least then she wouldn't have known if she was being eaten alive or not. She'd have just died without being aware of her heart stopping.

The Lycan (was it Malfoy?) straddled her, and leaned its head down next to her neck, inhaling (yes, it had to be Malfoy). When its tongue peeked out to lick at the clotted marks Nott had left on her throat, her sobs tore from her chest as fear began to choke her reason.

The fight instinct rallied for a final go, and she pushed with her uninjured arm against the creature's chest, her palm pressing into the spot right over its heart. "Malfoy, no," she begged, knowing it was useless to plead, as Werewolves were completely unaware of their human natures, the beast's instincts commanding their wills.

To her surprise, the Werewolf went utterly still.

A moment later, her cloak was roughly shoved upwards, and the tie cinching her waist was torn away. The front of her flimsy, cotton shift was shredded from neck to frayed end with a single swipe of his blood-stained claws. The cold night air chilled her skin without a barrier in place to protect it. Hermione's primary thought in that moment, however, had nothing to do with modesty, and everything to do with survival: her soft belly was now exposed. It was the most vulnerable place on a mammal... and having it punctured while still alive and breathing was the worst way to die.

Rationality fled, to be replaced by sheer terror and the need to live. She rolled, uncaring of the pain that shot up and down her spine, her only thought to escape. Wild, incoherent shrieks left her mouth, sounds she'd never made before, as she scrabbled through the dirt and moss, and fought one more time for her life.

She didn't get far. Malfoy pounced, holding her down with ease, his snarling mouth pressing against her ear.

"Ggggggggggrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrr."

Her name growled through the lips of a monster only made her bawling intensify. It seemed somehow worse that Malfoy's bestial form recognised her.

In the middle of gathering breath for another ear-piercing scream, he bit her. At the curve where her shoulder met her neck—right over the same exact spot Theodore Nott had been so obsessed with marking, too—his fangs pierced her, and her frightened cries turned into screeches of pain. Shocked into insensibility, she was forced to lay under Malfoy, as the infection of his bite made its way through her blood, transforming her DNA forever.

It was over fast, thankfully. He released her, licking over the wound to start the clotting process. In moments, she knew from prior reading on the subject, her body's immune system would begin to alter, white blood cell production doubling, then tripling, as her biochemistry changed. In a matter of hours, the bite would be nothing more than fresh scar tissue. It would never fully heal, but it wouldn't bleed out any longer.

Tears leaked down her face in hot rivulets, but no sobbing accompanied them. She was going into shock, the familiar sensation dulling her senses, making the world seem somehow less... real. She hardly noticed Malfoy's grotesque paws pulling her up and into his embrace, but the oddest thought struck her as she looked up at him as he paused to scent the air, holding her cradled in his arms: with his snout angled towards the sky, Hermione suddenly realised that she wasn't looking at a normal Werewolf. Malfoy was bulkier all around, taller, more wolf-like in the face, and his body was covered with silvery-white fur that was filthy with blood and dirt.

What had Voldemort done to him after Greyback had infected him?

He glanced off in the direction the Bugbear had scampered, and a low growl emitted from Malfoy's throat. Then he was off, moving so fast the scenery blurred. Hermione shut her eyes, leaned against his shoulder, and prayed for a fast death.


	3. Chapter 3

Sick to her gourd, dizzy, and in serious, mind-bending pain, Hermione barely held down a bout of nausea and barely held onto her consciousness as Malfoy carried her through the dark forest.

Time, again, held no meaning for her as she slipped once more into the role of captive. Occasionally, she'd peek through her lids up into the sky at the thick canopy of leaves and branches overhead. Sometimes, very briefly, she'd see a sliver of starlit sky, sometimes the moon's brilliance. Eventually, though, those glances began to make her head pound, so she squeezed her eyes tightly together again and simply awaited another chance to grab the vial in her bag.

Sometime later, they slowed, and then she felt the change in the air, indicating she was no longer under a free sky, but inside the earth. The smell of wet soil and rich minerals confirmed it. It got colder and the angle steeper. Then, it got warmer, although they continued downward. She began to both sweat and shiver.

"I'm going to vomit," she warned.

It seemed Malfoy understood, for he came to a sudden stop and put her down gently onto her feet. She swayed once and fell to her knees, spewing her guts out all over some rushes on the damp cave floor. She expelled another heaving mouthful for good measure. When nothing else wanted to come up, she spit, trying to get the acidic taste from her mouth. With a shaky hand, she wiped her lips and chin. "Ugh. Disgusting."

It was pitch black in the cave; she couldn't see two inches in front of her nose. The darkness seemed alive – a hovering presence, weighing down on her from the top and sliding in on her from the sides. Hermione began to hyperventilate. She'd always been a little claustrophobic, especially after first year, when one time after Potions class, Pansy Parkinson had shoved her into a cramped broom closet in the basement and spelled it with an extra strong locking charm that had taken her half an hour to un-spell. She'd been aware the whole time of the weight of all that ancient stone overhead and around her, and had been eternally thankful afterwards that she lived in a tower where she could see the sky, and not underground, stifled by the possibility of being crushed under tonnes of rock.

"Malfoy?" Where was he? Had he dumped her down here to die?

A moment later, she was hauled back up into Malfoy's hairy arms, and she had her answer: clearly, he wasn't going to leave her to fend for herself, nor was he going to kill her. He'd had ample chance to do both. Besides, he'd turned her with that bite. He wouldn't go through that kind of trouble if he'd intended on snacking on her intestines, right?

He sniffed at her face, his big, wet nose touching her cheek, and made a snuffing noise as if he found the smell of her vomit-y breath unpleasing. Her head buzzing still, she laid it back on his shoulder, not caring if her body odour offended him. She'd been held captive, rarely allowed the opportunity to clean her skin, hair, or teeth while in prison; only Theodore would grant her the chance to be clean with a Scourgify spell, used once a week, upon his regular visits. She was used to being dirty and smelly otherwise.

They were off again, and it became clear that Malfoy's night vision was superb, because she couldn't see a bloody thing... until they neared a hot spring further into the cave, Magical moss grew like a carpet around it and gave off a phosphorescent glow, providing some dim light to the dark cave.

The moment Malfoy stepped onto the moss, it reacted, glowing brighter. A reaction to magical energies, she remembered from sixth year Herbology. It was quite beautiful, and if Hermione had been feeling better, and this encounter had been under a different set of circumstances, she'd have loved to study its properties. As it was, Malfoy simply tromped over the moss, heading for the small pool of steaming water in the middle of the cavern. He paused only long enough to adjust her in his arms so he could dump her cloak and bag onto the ground and to get her shoes off her feet, and then he entered the water, submerging them both up to their necks.

Hermione squealed. She hadn't felt water flowing over her body in years, and the sensation was both pleasurable and scary. She held onto Malfoy, shaking as she adjusted to the temperature difference. He, however, had other ideas for them.

Grabbing a hunk of the magical moss that grew over the edge of the cauldron, he tore it off and began rubbing it all over her hair. It was a noxious green colour, and stung when it accidentally got in her eye. Hermione had had to hold her breath and submerge to get it all off of her. Several more dunks and it was finally out of her hair... along with all the dirt and grease and oil that had knotted it. It felt softer, cleaner. She worked her fingers through it, getting the tangles out as Malfoy used more moss to clean her arms, neck and legs.

Using a sharp claw, he tore her frayed and thin shift the rest of the way off her. The worn fabric separated as easily as a hot knife passing through butter. It came away as two sodden strips, which he tossed to the side. He did the same with her filthy knickers.

Covering her breasts, Hermione dropped down in the water to cover up, scolding Malfoy for looking at her naked body. He wuffed in what sounded like laughter, grabbing more moss and tossing it at her to use to clean up the rest of her body. He then took his own handful and cleaned his fur and claws.

The moss worked like a charm, leaving her skin as clean as if she'd used soap, and its face was rough, like a loofah, so she was able to work off a few layers of grim and dead skin at the same time. The hot spring seemed to have a gentle flow to it, so all of the dirty water was washed downstream, replaced by clean water that came in through a fissure near her feet.

"This moss is amazing," she said, holding it up and examining it. It was dull in her hand, probably because her magical energies were sealed by the bracelets on her wrists, and it couldn't feed off of them as a result. "I wonder if it grows anywhere else and what it's made of."

She was feeling much more energised now, she realised, her earlier shock, her injuries, and her exhaustion seeming to dull and give way to a new vigour. It was the advanced healing she'd obtained from the Lycanthropy, she was sure. Gingerly, she touched the spot Malfoy had bitten her. It ached, but when she pulled her fingers away, there was no residual blood. The bite wound had clotted already.

"I'm going to be like you now," she said. "You've condemned me to share your life. Why?"

Malfoy stared at her with those bestial eyes of his, and reached out to touch her wrist, where he'd broken it. It was healing properly, she realised. He indicated her other injuries, which would have been fatal in the exposed environment top-side, and she suddenly understood: he'd done it to save her life.

"I don't understand. You're a Werewolf and... you've always hated me," she reminded him, perhaps a bit unwisely, but what did she have to lose really?

Fiercely, he shook his head.

"Yes, you did. I'm a 'filthy, little Mudblood', remember?"

Just speaking the word made her sick to her stomach. She'd heard it enough times while incarcerated, and although she'd learned to hide her feelings with a blank expression, she'd still felt inside every insult hurled at her over the years. Some things a person  _shouldn't_ get used to, she'd always believed. Bigotry was one of those things.

He stood, approached, and it was only then that she realised how... male... he was. His huge genitalia, sheathed as a wolf's normally would be, hung heavy and thick between his legs. As he came closer, it began to stiffen, the weighty sacks underneath drawing up and tightening. Hermione sank lower in the water, made sure her breasts and sex were covered by her hands, and turned to the side to prevent him from having any kind of access to her, front or back. She had no idea what he was thinking or how he would behave, but if there was one thing she'd learned during her incarceration, it was that no male was to be trusted, no matter the species.

Hunkering down to her height, his great, platinum-white snout pressed into her shoulder, sniffing and nuzzling her. His arms shot around her, pinning her in place. Against her outer thigh, his huge, frightening erection pressed. Terrified, Hermione could only close her eyes and pray for death again. She'd spent years being tortured by Death Eaters, and now she'd been turned into a Werewolf against her will. Would she also be mated against her consent by this creature? Would her torment never end?

Tears stung her eyes and fell in uncontrollable streams as great, heaving sobs were suddenly drawn from the well of her suffering. "Please, don't," she begged. "Enough. I can't take anymore."

Malfoy stilled, and then he melted into her, holding her to his warm, fast-beating heart with a careful hold. He licked her cheek, her ear, her neck where he'd bit her, as if apologising for everything. She continued to cry, and it seemed the years of suffering were pouring out of her now – all the loss, all the death, all the physical punishments she'd endured. How had she kept her sanity at all?

"They hurt me so much," she whimpered, throwing her arms around Malfoy and burying her face in his furry neck. "They destroyed  _everything_ good in the world."

He gave a canine sigh, and held her until she cried herself out. Then, he lifted her waterlogged body out of the hot spring, and laid her down on what appeared to be a makeshift nest in the corner, made of old clothing and scraps of fabric. The room was humid enough for her not to feel too chilled, but she still hunched in on herself, trying to keep the heat in. Malfoy stood back far enough and shook his wet fur out before sitting down opposite her. He passed her cape to her and she huddled under it, amazed that it was dry, despite lying in the snow and falling into the stream. It must have been charmed. The wool was scratchy, but it kept her warm.

She sniffed and rubbed a tired hand across her eyes, staring at her 'host', unsure what to make of him. Malfoy was a Werewolf, of a kind, and he should be this mindless, horrific killer, and yet here he was, watching her without an inkling of hunger or viciousness in his features. He'd saved her from that Bugbear, and from her mortal injuries by giving her the means to heal. True, he'd also infected her with Lycanthropy, but the HIV that had run through her system would be destroyed by the Werewolf's curse, which trumped any human virus on the planet. She wouldn't die of AIDS-related complications, but in exchange, she'd turn into a monster once a month.

Honestly, she didn't know which fate was worse.

"I don't understand you," she said around a yawn. "You've changed, and not just into a wolf, I mean. You're… different." Lying down and huddling under the blanket, Hermione stared at her companion for the longest time, fighting sleep. Eventually, though, it won.


	4. Chapter 4

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY TWO**

 

The feel of something tickling her belly woke her up. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Hermione looked down her body… to find Malfoy sniffing her knicker-free, curl-shrouded sex. His pink tongue peeked out and swiped over it once.

Hermione screamed and struck out at him, pressing her back to the cave wall. She tugged the cape over her, covering her nudity. "What do you think you're doing?" she screeched.

Malfoy leaned back on his haunches, tongue lolling out of his mouth with… was that laughter? He licked his lips, indicating he'd liked what he'd tasted, and she couldn't help it – her eyes dipped to his waist. His erection was prominent, and very much free of its sheathe. It was shaped like a human's, rather than a dog's, with a wide, wet crest.

Quickly, she turned her face away, feeling her cheeks burn. "Don't… don't touch me like that. Never again."

On hands and knees, Malfoy crawled over to her. He was so big, he crowded her. When he flashed his teeth and growled, she shook in terror. This was it. She'd angered him and now he was going to eat her alive. "Do it," she grit, angry at the world and tired of being frightened and alone. It would be better to die, anyway, rather than face a life of Lycanthropy. "Kill me." She faced him, met his large, grey gaze, and raised her chin, feeling brave for the first time in a long time. What more did she have to lose, really? She'd expected a painful death long ago. "I hope you choke on my bones, though."

Malfoy paused, gave that wuffing chuckle of amusement again, and then bumped his face against hers, licking her ear. He kept licking her, slobbering all over her throat, but it was playful in the way of young wolves. When it became clear that he had no intention of crushing her with those massive jaws of his, Hermione reached up and shoved his snout away.

"Enough. You're drooling all over me. I'm going to need another bath."

Just over his shoulder, she spied his long, bushy wolf's tail wagging back and forth. That surprised her, as she was sure Werewolves didn't have tails like that. It was supposed to be only a tuft of fur, she recalled from her former research on the subject. "You're… really so different," she pointed out, looking him over. "You don't look like a Werewolf should, and you certainly don't act it. You're not like Professor Lupin at all. What happened to you? How did you get this way? Was it something Voldemort did to you after he had Greyback bite you?"

At the mention of the alpha Werewolf's name, Draco growled again, showing teeth. Clearly, he had a beef with Fenrir Greyback.

"Theodore Nott said Greyback was the one who bit you," she told him. "Nott... he was the Head Gaoler in the prison. He liked to bite me, frequently. I swear I think he must have been part Vampire or something."

She rubbed the spot on her throat where Malfoy had infected her, which was the exact spot Nott used to gnaw upon. It was almost completely healed now.

Malfoy's angry growl had her quickly glancing up again. His long ears were flattened to the sides of his head and he'd bared his teeth again and clawed at the stone ground with his sharp nails, as if he were angered by what she'd said.

She found the behaviour bizarre, especially considering their history – but then so had been the licking and the caretaking. Frankly, Malfoy was behaving wholly… un-Malfoyish. She still wasn't sure whether to trust that the change was genuine, or if there was some other reason for his attentiveness and concern.

"The day Nott came to take me away from Azkaban to bring me here, he was completely different from how he'd been," she continued. "The things he'd said… well, it made me question whether everything he'd done had all been an act to throw off the others, like Professor Snape had done. Or perhaps he just felt really sorry for me. I don't know. He said he wanted to help me survive, though. He gave me this cloak, which has been charmed." She held up the woollen hem of her cloak, careful to keep from flashing any leg. "It stopped my descent when they shoved me off a broom over the forest, and it's kept me warm since then. He also gave me that bag." She pointed to the velvet bag still sitting on the lip of the pool across the room. "It's got special items in it to help me survive."

She opened her mouth to tell him about the arrangements Nott had made to help her get away, but then closed it again, thinking better of it. What if Malfoy decided not to help her get to Hagrid's old cottage at the edge of the wood? What if he'd decided to keep her here forever, to ease his loneliness?

"H-he was just… different. Like you." She pointedly stared at him, wary and attentive. "The question is: why are the two of you trying to help me?"

Malfoy's wolfish eyes simply blinked at her, as if he were waiting for her to figure it out on her own. When the reasons remained beyond her grasp, he let out a frustrated sniff, stood, and left the cave.

"Wait!" she called after him, but he didn't turn around.

He didn't come back for several hours, either, leaving Hermione time to take another dip in the spring, to scrub her body more thoroughly with the magical moss, and to contemplate what it was Malfoy wanted from her… and how to escape him in six days time.

 

* * *

 

Rationing her beef strips, Hermione figured she had enough for three more days, if she ate a single strip per meal. Her water situation, however, was dire. She'd have to ask Malfoy if he could go out and refill her canteen, as the water in the cave was too sulphurous to ingest.

He came back some hours later. She had no way of knowing exactly how long, as she had no timepiece or access to the sky to see the sun's progress. She guessed it was between four and five hours, though – and he didn't come back empty-handed. The stench of fresh blood and the soggy, squelchy odour of pond scum and wet dog fur preceded his arrival. The scent was so ghastly that Hermione had to clap a hand over her mouth and nose to ward it off or tempt another bout of stomach hurling.

Malfoy entered the alcove with something large and scaly slung over his shoulder. He tossed the carcass to the floor of the cave, just outside the ring of magical moss, and Hermione recognised it to be a Merwoman. The body smelled of algae and mud, and flopped, boneless, to its side. Knotted green hair covered most of its face, but from the angle, she could see a row of sharp, needle-like teeth jutting forward from a deformed, greyish-coloured set of lips, as if the female's jaw had been broken. The teeth were stained red from blood.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, hurrying over to the poor thing's side. "What happened to it?" She touched its throat and then its chest, searching for a pulse, hoping the thing's anatomy was similar enough to humans to find a heartbeat somewhere. There was nothing indicating the creature was still alive, however, as far as she could tell.

Brushing back the hair, she gazed down at the dead Merwoman's face, sadly closing the lids over its yellow eyes forever. "They sing so beautifully," she said, feeling pity well up in her chest. "I heard them once… at Dumbledore's funeral." Behind her, Malfoy was unnaturally still. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Did you do this?"

He hunched down to her height, seeming to consider her for a moment before nodding his head once.

"Why?" she asked around a small sob. The answer came to her the moment the word had left her mouth, and she cringed, moving away from him. "You cannot be serious! You mean to  _eat_  her?" She made a disgusted face, inching away even more.

Malfoy's hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, stopping her. She kicked at him, but he didn't let go. So, she kicked harder.

"You're sick! SICK!" she screamed, fighting him, trying to get away. "How could you? You murderous bastard!"

He let her go at that, and she scrambled as far away from him as she could get, huddling into the far corner of the cave under her cloak. He growled, looked angry – fierce and violent. Hermione stared right back, furious and terrified.

Malfoy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he peeled back his lids, his eyes were glowing silver. A voice she recognised from her childhood – older, more mature now, but with the same inflections of tone – spoke to her in her mind.

_"Stop being stubborn, Granger. You're going to change soon, and when you do, it could kill you. I've seen it happen. It's not a good way to die."_

She gasped, utterly astonished by Malfoy's telepathic ability. Was this some special perk of the Lycanthropy?

" _Yes, it is. You're pack now that you've been bitten. Wolves are telepathic. This is how we talk to each other."_

He indicated the dead Mermaid before him.

" _And this is the best I could do under the circumstances. The Acromantulas have decimated the forest now that the Centaurs are all dead. They were the only ones keeping the spider population contained. Now those eight-legged freaks are reproducing everywhere, eating everything in their path."_

"And whose fault is that?" she dared to question.

_"Voldemort. He killed the Centaurs off, so he could rape the forest of the things he needed before giving it to the spiders. He took everything of value – the unicorns, the bicorns, you name it. He left the rest of us to fend for ourselves. That Bugbear that attacked you did so for the same reason I killed fishgirl here: we're slowly starving to death."_

"So, why don't you just… leave?" she hesitantly asked.

_"Can't. There's a barrier around the forest. Nothing gets out once it's in. This Mermaid was stupid to cross under the barrier to hunt fish that she'd chased from the lake into the shallows where the water edges the forest. I didn't get the fish; they were too fast and swam back towards the lake. The Mermaid was a lucky kill, though. Her meat will sustain you through your change."_

Hermione frowned – not at the part about eating a dead Merperson (because there was no way in hell she was doing that), or even the contention that she was going to change soon (eventually, she'd get back to that bit), but at the part about the forest having a barrier around it. "If no one can get out, then why did Nott say-" She stopped herself suddenly, remembering at the last moment that she hadn't told Malfoy about her escape plan.

He tilted his head, staring at her with that calm wolfish patience.

_"What did he say to you?"_

"I don't think I ought to tell you," she admitted. "I can't trust you not to interfere."

He snuffed.

"Why do you think I'm going to change soon, and how 'soon' is 'soon' anyway?" she asked, directing the conversation into another direction.

_"The healing thing starts right away, as you've noticed. For the next two days, you'll notice small changes – all of your senses will sharpen. On the third day, the transformation hits you like an express train and you'll want to die from the pain. If you survive your first shifting, you'll come out of it a changed witch – cursed, but alive."_

"What can I expect?" she asked in a small voice, worried. "Don't mince words, Draco. Just tell me exactly what will happen."

_"You want it straight, Granger? Fine, here it is: you'll sweat with fever for half a day, and then everything inside starts to change. When it happens, your organs, teeth, and bones will break and be realigned into your Lycan form. Your skin will itch like a thousand sun ants are marching across it as the hair grows and recedes. Your brain will feel like it's going to explode with the migraine to beat all headaches. If you survive the change, you'll be like me – and hungry. Your first instinct will be to eat. Once you've filled your belly, you'll go into heat and we'll fuck until you're sated that way, too. The reversal happens a day later, and you'll turn back into a human. You'll sleep for a long time after that, but you'll still be in heat. That doesn't fade for a few days. During that time, we'll shag some more."_

He crawled closer to her, and she could see he was erect once more.

_"Long term, you'll still look human for most of the month, and you'll feel like yourself, but you'll be stronger, faster, and your senses and magical aura will align to your new predatory needs. You'll crave raw meat and blood on a regular basis, and the thrill of the hunt will always hold you captive. You'll shift with the full moon. You'll retain your mind, but you'll become more feral. And you'll be mated to me, your Alpha, for life."_

Hermione's jaw dropped at that last bit. "Mated to you? No. No way! You have got to be kidding!"

Malfoy's canine features shifted, and if he'd been human, he'd be giving her a 'do I look like I'm shitting you?' look.

Hyperventilating seemed to be the only logical response to what she'd just been told. It morphed very quickly into a full-blown panic attack, though, starting with a rolling sweat and numb hands. She gasped for breath as her heart raced out of control. Her chest ached, and her lungs sawed in and out desperately seeking oxygen. She turned on her side, retched, but nothing came up. With tears stinging her eyes, she cursed him, repeating over and over again how much she hated him and wished she would just die – how they all would just die, and the world would burn. Her tirade ended with her collapsing into a ball and crying her heart out.

Malfoy did not approach her until she felt silent, and then, it was to pick up her limp form and to remove her cloak from her. Naked in his arms, he carried her into the hot spring with him, and held her as he sank down into the water.

_"I want you to live. I need you to."_

"Why?" she whispered, smelling the stink of fish all over him and hating it. Some bizarre internal instinct told her to wash it from him, and then to replace it with her own smell. She fought it off, recognising it as part of the changes he'd told her about and not wanting to give in so easily.

He wearily sighed. _"Because I think you're the only one who can save me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that this Draco has been trapped in half-wolf form for a lonnnnnnnng time, and he's been living in the forest for that same amount of time -- hunting to survive, and living like an animal. His innate nature has become a unique blending of wolf and human as a result. Further, his instinct is ruled by an animal's need to mate and the wolf pack's hierarchical structure, too, so those behaviours will follow through at times. This is A/U hybrid Werewolf Draco, not the spoilt, immature Draco from novel canon. 
> 
> Saying that, this Draco does still retain some of his human emotional issues, like guilt and jealousy and love. He's not totally a 'wild man'. 
> 
> Basically, he's going to be a blend of all those things -- part canine, part human. Please keep that in mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Werewolf-human sex in this chapter. Explicit. If that's not your thing, skip the naughty bits and read on.
> 
> Also, male wolves in the wild 'knot' their mates during copulation to assure conception.

Later that afternoon, the Merwoman's corpse had been removed to some antechamber within the cave for Malfoy to butcher out of Hermione's sight. Soon afterwards, she began to truly experience some of the symptoms he'd related.

The low grade fever made her sweat so badly that she'd had to take the cloak off and drape it loosely about her, while lying inert upon the soft magical moss. Her body had tingled from head to toe, and she'd gushed wet between her legs. It had been uncomfortable both on a physical and a mental level to not be able to control her arousal. It was almost as bad as the times Theodore Nott would come to her cell, usually a few times during the month, right around the full moon. He'd come and her body would respond, trained over the years to expect penetration...

 _"Stop thinking about him,"_  Malfoy groused in her head.

Another side-effect of the growing claim of the Lycanthropy upon her was a sort of shared mental telepathy. Malfoy explained it as a collective pack mind, much as wolves shared in the wild. She could hear his thoughts when he projected them, and as Alpha, he could read hers when her emotions ran high. There was little privacy between pack members.

That he was projecting his thoughts to her now from another room within the cave meant their bond was growing stronger. Eventually, distance would mean nothing; they'd be able to 'talk' to each other in their minds from thousands of miles away. That's what being mated to him meant for her, he'd explained.

Still, she refused to succumb to his dominance. "I will if I want," she argued. "You can't stop me."

The argument reminded her of Harry, who used to jokingly refer to her as 'Bossy-Pants' on occasion when they'd been eleven and twelve. Malfoy was being the Bossy-Pants now.

A pang of regret and loss once more hit her as she thought of her old friend...

 _"Stop thinking about him, too,"_ Malfoy growled.

"Make me."

She wasn't sure where this daring was coming from. All she knew was her body was hot, and there was a need growing in her core that was wet and desperate for attention. For the first time in her life, she actually, really wanted sex. She threw off the cloak, as its scratchiness was uncomfortable, and reached between her legs to cup her core, squeezing her thighs together.

From somewhere down the cavern, Malfoy's growl resonated. It was a sound indicating he was both cross and aroused at the same time.

_"Granger, if you touch yourself, I'm coming in there. Don't tempt me."_

Some strange, animal instinct nudged her to do it, but the rational, human side of her head told her not to push her luck. The thought of sex with a Werewolf, even a familiar one who could 'speak' to her as if he were really still human, made her shudder. It was too close to bestiality for her tastes.

So, she suffered and squirmed, and tried to ignore the fact that over the next several hours, all of her senses were blooming… and the smell of Malfoy's barely-restrained sexual hunger was becoming sharper to her nose, despite the distance he kept.

Eventually, she slipped into the hot spring again, needing to scrub the sweat and need from her skin, uncaring of the state of her nudity, or that her 'host-saviour' might be peeping.

 

* * *

 

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY THREE**

 

The itching of her skin woke Hermione up from a deep, restless sleep. Bathed in sweat, she rolled onto her side and moaned as a migraine headache pounded in her head. A soft, wet tongue licked her face, irritating her.

"No," she whimpered, pushing against something furry and warm.

_"It's starting, Granger. Hold onto my hand, no matter how bad it gets. I'm here. And for fuck's sake, don't stop breathing."_

Itchy and feeling a bit thin in her skin, Hermione moaned. Her legs kicked out, restless, but her hand was held steady in Malfoy's careful, but firm grip.

She seemed to float for a while in a haze of moderate pain… and then the change came, and it hit her with all the power of an Unforgivable. Every muscle in her body spasmed at once, and she felt herself literally breaking apart, bone by bone. She screamed, agonised as she popped everywhere and snapped back together again like those little, plastic Lego pieces. Her skin felt as if a thousand suns resided underneath it, boiling her into stew, and she gagged on blood as her teeth and jaw were destroyed and remade.

It went on and on for Godric knew how long, until thankfully, her nervous system simply shut down, and then it was lights out once more.

 

* * *

 

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY FOUR**

 

Consciousness came back slowly.

The first thing Hermione noticed was that the blanket that held her was warm and furry. Instinctively, she turned her head, letting her cheek rub against it, enjoying the tickling sensation.

The second thing she noticed was the scent of sex. That musky aphrodisiac pulled at her senses, causing her to be aware of a familiar ache between her thighs…

_"Good morning, mate."_

"Huh?" was all she could manage as she weakly came to.

She stared up… into the face of a monster.

Screaming, she tried her best to get away, but the thing had her in its embrace, and rolled her onto her back, pinning her to something soft and squishy.

_"Calm down, it's only me. Ow! Don't bite anymore. You did enough of that yesterday."_

Unfortunately, what little strength she'd been able to muster in the face of terror drained quickly, leaving her panting with exhaustion and easily overpowered. Tears clogged her vision and she gave a weak sob. "Kill me," she rasped. Her throat felt raw and stripped of its meat. "Please, no more."

The monster was gentle as it nuzzled and licked her, lapping up her tears.

" _I won't hurt you. Calm down. Things can take a bit to come back after the first change."_

"Change?" she asked, confused.

_"You became a Werewolf, like me. Remember?"_

She blinked, trying to pull back the curtain of her memories. They returned slowly, and Hermione became horrified all over again. "No, no, no," she repeated, turning her head away.

_"Oh, yes, Granger. You changed, you survived, you fed, and we mated. In fact, it's just about that time again. Your smell tells me you need it."_

Something large and wet rubbed against her pelvis, and her body instinctually reacted. A snarling, greedy arousal stirred in her womb, and an unwilling moan escaped her lips. Malfoy licked her throat right over her pulse, causing it to speed up. He nipped very tenderly over the skin where he'd bitten her initially, and that set off another chain reaction within her lower belly.

As if a Lust Charm had her in its teeth, her entire body flooded with instantaneous need. Her nipples hardened and her juices flowed between her lower lips, slicking them up. She rubbed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache.

_"Turn over for me."_

He let her wrists go, and for the first time, she noticed that the shackles were gone.

_"Your change snapped them. They're over with your bag. Now focus... on me."_

She looked down the length of their bodies. His erection was taut against his belly, fully unsheathed and dripping for her.

Oh, God. Was she really going to do this?

He growled, and instinctively she understood what the sound meant: obedience was required of her. She also felt his Alpha-ness pressing down on the inside of her skull, making his mastery over her known. She was pack now, his bitch, and he expected her to comply.

Her impulsive body moved on its own, turning over onto its hands and knees. She whined both in protest and with need, and it was a very canine sound, despite her human vocal chords.

One big hand pressed against her head, forcing her cheek down into the soft moss. The other gripped her hip, careful not to press sharp claws into her tender flesh. His huge, slick erection probed her vagina, and she went stock still, realising there was no escaping what he was about to do to her. He'd mated her again and again yesterday, and as the memories returned, she remembered being more than voluntary in that regard.

With strength, he pushed forward, piercing her body and stretching her wide. She felt like she was choking on his size, thought surely he would tear her up. Instead, she accommodated his cock as if she'd been made for it, and she was so wet and ready, it was an easy entry. Once he was buried as far as he could go without hurting her, he leaned forward over the expanse of her back and licked over the initial bite wound he'd made on her shoulder. His tongue lapped at it as he held still within her.

_"You feel so good. Bloody hell, it gets better every time we do this!"_

Before she could ask how many times they'd gone at it, the answer was recalled with startling clarity. She blushed at the sheer wantonness of their sex the day before as the images flashed before her closed eyes, and at the delicious memory of being knotted by him each time…

That whine again sounded from her throat, and she arched her back into him, wiggling her hips in a silent plea for him to take her once more.

His pace was not gentle, as it was an animal's need unleashed, and she took it, enjoyed it even. He growled and grunted, dominating her by clamping onto her shoulder and holding her in place with his greater weight; she whined and moaned, submitting to him once more.

Vaguely, she was aware in the back of her consciousness that what she was doing was depraved, but another part reminded her that she wasn't fully human anymore, and so those mores and morals couldn't be applied to her any longer. She was being mated by her mate, and the female wolf within her recognised it, and even revelled in it.

When his cock began thickening at the base, it brought her such pleasure she nearly went dizzy with it. The tight knot in his flesh swelled until he became unable to withdraw from her, and the sensation of being held so perfectly in the moment was so exquisite that Hermione's whole body gave itself over to the experience, shuddering with a climax that left her breathless and emotionally rung-out in the aftermath.

At the same moment her body was rocking the pleasure, Malfoy's exploded, releasing his seed up into her in powerful spurts. Pulling his mouth from her flesh, Draco tilted his head to the cavern's tall ceiling and howled in triumph, holding her tightly against him as wave after wave of his hot semen splashed against the opening to her womb.

Lying limply under him, Hermione could only cry, knowing in that moment that she would never be able to live without him again.

Draco Malfoy had made her a prisoner as much as Azkaban had.


	6. Chapter 6

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY FIVE**

Over the next day, they did little more than fuck like mad, stopping only to eat, bathe, and drink.

Hermione flat out refused to eat the Merwoman, despite the fact her mate had skinned it and cut it into unrecognizable chunks with his claws, and that it appeared somehow cooked. It looked no different from Pollock, but she knew better. Sushi it was not, and even then, she wouldn't touch the stuff.

After another rather athletic session, Hermione lay slumped over Malfoy, who had finally allowed her the chance to take the dominant role and ride atop him, rather than under him. He'd actually rather enjoyed it, from what she could tell, but really it had mostly been for her pleasure.

As it always took a while for the swelling in Draco's length to go down, he spent that time licking her, nuzzling her, and sniffing her. When he could finally pull free, he was quick about it, but was tender as he rolled her onto her back and dropped his muzzle to the spot and licked over her swollen lower lips, as if attempting to ease any hurt he might have caused.

Sated and wilted, Hermione lay unmoving and without protest as he bathed her genitals.

_"I love the way you taste."_

She sighed, physically content, but mentally concerned.  _"Draco, please just tell me what you want with me,"_  she requested, resigned to the fact that now she shared the telepathic ability to speak to another wolf with her thoughts.  _"Why bite me, really? Why save my life?"_

Malfoy finished his attentions and crawled back up her body, gathering her into his arms. He was so touchy, grabby even, as if he were making up for lost time without human contact. She wondered when the last time was he'd actually 'talked' to anyone.

 _"I'm going out to hunt in a bit,"_  he replied, dodging her question. " _I want you to stay in the caves. It's not safe outside while you're fully human."_

That Draco had refused to answer that same question three times now over the past day had made Hermione more desperate than ever to escape him.

The wolf within her rebelled at the idea, but the fact of the matter was, she was still technically a captive, and this was just another game that she'd been unwilling forced to play. Malfoy was toying with her as much as the Death Eaters in Azkaban had, only he was enslaving her spirit, not just her body. Yes, his touch was affectionate, but he didn't love her and she didn't love him. They'd barely known each other during their school days, and despite the amazing sexual ride she'd been on for days, he was nevertheless a virtual stranger to her.

One thing was for certain: he wasn't helping her out of some noble desire or with unselfish intention. He'd made her into a monster to save her life, he'd claimed, but she knew better; his mind was still very much as it had been before he'd been turned—cunning, sly, selfish, with an edge of cruelty to it. Her guess as to why he'd turned her, rather than killed and ate her, was that he'd been lonely and wanted companionship. He'd probably been waiting for any female to show up, so he could mate her.

Realistically, he'd probably been tracking her from the moment she'd landed in the forest, biding his time and contemplating what to do with her. When the Bugbear had attacked and she'd been so badly injured, he'd recognised his opportunity.

Now, he was trying to keep her in his den, mating her in the hopes she'd conceive. She could sense his intentions peripherally in her mind. He was careful and controlled enough to keep them mostly hidden, but there was an edge of excitement and anticipation to him each time he'd knotted her, as if he was hoping for them to create new life.

He'd said he wanted her to 'save' him, and now she understood how: by helping him create a real pack.

Which meant, he had no intention of ever letting her leave the forest.

Was she pregnant even now? If so, what could she do? Would the children come out deformed half-breeds?

Hagrid had claimed in his Magical Creatures class that the wolves that had once inhabited this forest had been the pups of Werewolves that had bred under the full moon. They'd been birthed as regular wolves, but with human-like intelligence. Would her pups be the same if she had conceived, or would they look human, like Remus Lupin's son had been rumoured to have turned out?

Malfoy growled and gently nipped her earlobe.  _"You're thinking too much. Your jumbled thoughts are making my head ache. Just stop. Relax."_  He extricated her from his arms and stood up to his full height, his wolfish head nearly brushing the cave's low ceiling.  _"Stay in the den. Don't go near the entrance. Predators roam around at all hours here, not just at night anymore. I'll be back."_

Hermione watched him go, careful to shield her thoughts, remembering her brief Occlumens lessons before her capture years ago.

When he was finally out of sight, and she sensed away from the cave, she took a dip in the hot springs to ease her achy body, and planned out her escape.

 

* * *

 

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY SIX**

Hermione figured it had been six days since she'd been dropped from Rosier's broom, using the day of her transition as a focal point for counting backwards and forwards.

She'd slept most of the first afternoon and evening after being unceremoniously dumped into the forest, and had been bitten somewhere in early morning hours of the next day, probably close to the midnight hour, she'd guess. It had taken three days for the change to happen after being bitten, Malfoy had said, and it had been two since then according to him. That meant that two dawns from now, she had to be at Hagrid's cottage or she'd be forced to find a way out of the Scottish wilderness by herself –on foot, barely clothed, without a wand, and in the middle of winter, most likely with her Werewolf mate chasing after her to bring her back. Not good odds for her survival, even with the items in the bag to help sustain her and without a weapon.

The question was in which direction should she strike out once she made her move? Hagrid's hut and where the castle stood, she knew, was to the west of the forest. If she chose the wrong way, she could end up missing the rendezvous point, or stumbling deeper into the forest, right into the lair of the spiders.

She remembered reading once that one could find north by seeking out Ursa Major in the night sky and looking for Polaris, the North Star, directly above and to the right of The Plough's edge. The problem was the forest's canopy was so thick, even in winter. She'd have to find a hole through it or climb a tree to the top, if possible, to see the sky. That would slow her down – and give Malfoy ample chance to catch up.

She'd have to risk it. There were no other options.

When Malfoy returned hours later, he carried home one dead Murtlap the size of his torso. He explained he'd caught it chasing some crawfish into that same small pool where he'd caught the Mermaid. The crawfish had gotten away under the barrier, but the Murtlap hadn't made it, caged in by the invisible force field.

Hermione made a face at the smell. "Phew. Disgusting!"

Malfoy stared at her in irritation and then turned on his heel and walked right back out again.

"It's only the raw fish thing. If it was cooked, it would be edible! Can't we build a fire?" she shouted at his retreating back.

He didn't reply, leaving her to stew with a growling stomach.

He returned an hour later... with cooked Murlap, on the half-shell and sliced. Hermione was astonished, and impressed. "How did you-?"

_"There's a cave further down with hotter water than this. I boiled it on a stick."_

An odd catch in her chest made Hermione's throat clog. He'd gone through the trouble of stripping the edible meat from the rest (and even had the forethought of doing so out of her sight, so she wouldn't be traumatised by the blood and the stench of the innards), and then cooked it for her. Werewolves traditionally just ate whatever they caught, the same as any other apex predator. He'd gone through a lot of effort to please her; the old Malfoy would have probably let her starve.

He really had changed, hadn't he?

 _"Just so you know that's how you ate the Mermaid when you changed. I didn't feed her to you raw. I mean, I thought about it, just for shites and giggles, but then I remembered you can be rather vindictive for a goody-good Gryffindor, and I'd rather not be locked out of your knickers for life. Watching you puke your guts out wasn't worth losing a good shag."_  

He preened a little bit, like some runway dog, nose in the air.  _"_

_I hope you appreciate how much I've matured over the years, Granger."_

Okay, maybe he hadn't changed that much.

"Er... Thanks," she managed, feeling a little ill at the thought of cannibalising a Merperson.

_"Food is food. You need to eat, to keep your strength up. You're too thin, and the change took a lot out of you."_

She nodded, staring down at her bare feet. The moss under her toes was warm, she noted.

He approached, holding out to her a stick with something that looked like a sea cucumber skewered on it.  _"You're my mate now, so you'll do what I say if you want to survive. Eat."_

Despite the fact his tone offended her she still took the stick from him, thankful for the food. "Okay."

They ate in silence, with Malfoy feeding her pieces of the Murtlap from his hands after she'd finished off the strip on the stick. He was so careful with her, and the feeding was so intimate. She almost felt cherished.

Afterwards, food coma set in – a natural side-effect of eating Murtlap that was un-pickled, she knew. Without asking permission, Hermione lay her head down on Malfoy's furry legs, and cuddled up against him into a ball. As she started to doze, she felt his claws very gently stroking over her long hair.

It felt good. It felt right.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this story at the fest site, there are some major revisions to this chapter in terms of fleshing out the plot and Malfoy's explanations to Hermione. Hope you enjoy!

Hermione woke up alone after what felt like only a few hours. She called out for Malfoy, but received no response. She tried to project her thoughts instead, and was told by him, in a very irritated growl, that he was out hunting again, and to not disturb his concentration unless it was an emergency.

Grumbling to herself about his crankiness, she searched the cave for something that might be used to comb through the snarls in her hair. A stick with two branches was a good tool, but she had to be careful not to snap the ends. Several times, she used her fingers to untangle the mess.

After an hour of grooming, she decided it would be easier to simply cut the hair off. If only she had a means to do so. Sadly, she'd lost the knife somewhere in the woods during her flight from the Bugbear that first night.

Feeling a bit more energetic, she next decided to tackle the issue of producing fire. Fortunately, her ability with non-verbal magic was no longer hampered by bespelled wrist bracelets, as it had been in prison. Unfortunately, she was terrible at controlling magic without a wand in hand to direct the energy currents as she wished, and it took a tremendous amount of mental  _'oomph'_  to get even the simplest spell off. She had to concentrate hard on moving the magic of her aura in such a way that it dictated the laws of Nature to her will – a feat not easy, except in moments of extreme emotion and usually only when a very young child, as the experience of growing up put mental blocks in a witch or wizard's way.

She spent another hour, at least, focusing on a pile of dried leaves and sticks that she'd gathered onto the stone part of the cave floor, away from the moss, but so far had only succeeded in giving herself a mild headache from her efforts – and a huge case of disappointment mingled with despair. It was as she'd suspected: her magical energies had been weakened by the years she'd been cut off from using them. She feared the damage might be slow to repair, if not permanent.

Cursing, she gripped her temples and rubbed, closing her eyes.

This was one of the reasons she hadn't tried to reach for her own magic before now; the failure to make anything happen was a downward spiralling curse, as it played havoc with one's self-esteem, which was vital to assuring one's magical accuracy and strength. Now that she knew it was tremendously difficult to cast magic without a wand, she most likely wouldn't be able to cast  _anything_ until she held a real wand in hand _._

Harry had always been genius at accidental wand-less magic as a child, she'd been told. If only she had a fourth of such talent! She suspected, however, that his aptitude had been made possible thanks to the piece of Voldemort's soul within her best friend giving him strength to perform magic where normal feats of such power would be near impossible for most witches and wizards. Such had been the case with his speaking Parseltongue, too, she guessed. Still, despite that handicap, how wonderful it must have been to be able to use magic to undo tragic things, like the dreadful haircut Harry's aunt had given him when he'd been a child!

She'd give her big toe just then to light a simple fire. With a firebrand in hand, she'd be able to explore the cave, to find the way out, and to use it as a weapon against any enemies she might encounter in the forest during her escape.

After a bit of a break, she tried again, and then again. She kept trying, until she scented Malfoy's approach through the wafting air currents through the cave, her sense of smell heightened by her transformation. He was carrying something in with him, something that was dead. The hot tang of blood stuck to the roof of her mouth and made her hungry once more, distracting her from her intent.

Ravenously hungry once again, she set aside her experiment, and rose to meet him coming in.

 

* * *

 

She was back working on conjuring fire the minute Malfoy let her up from their puppy pile so he could take a dip in the hot spring. They'd had sex right after eating, with him still dirty and bloody, and smelling like fresh kill. The scent had excited her at the time, but hours later, it had lost its appeal.

Her wrinkling her nose was all the signal he'd needed to get the hint, and with a sigh, he'd released her from the embrace of his long, shaggy arms, and crawled his way over to the small pool, falling in face-first.

The minute his back was turned, she'd hurried over to her pile of dead leaves and twigs and sat down cross-legged in front of it, trying to calm her mind enough to concentrate on starting a fire.

_"You should join me, while there's still time to enjoy this sort of thing."_

That struck her as an odd thing to say, so she glanced up at him, her intentions on hold for the moment. "What do you mean, 'while there's still time'?"

He didn't reply, merely stared at her with those pale grey eyes of his, and kept his private thoughts locked down and away from her.

Warning alarms went off in her head. "Malfoy, please explain that comment."

He ripped up a handful of moss and began scrubbing his fur with it, ignoring her.

A terrible dread crept through her, making her shiver like a grave-stepper. "Will you at least tell me what happened to the other prisoners who were dropped into the forest before me?" She figured that would get a reaction from him.

It did. He stopped and stared at her again, eerily silent.

"Did... did you kill and eat them?" she hesitantly asked, her heart giving a hard thump in anticipation of his answer.

Malfoy snorted in disgust.

_"Jesus, Granger, I'm no cannibal!"_

"Then what happened to them?"

He didn't answer her for the longest time. She felt positively ill waiting for his response.

 _"They were killed by other predators in here,"_ he finally settled on.

"Well, why didn't you help them try to escape?"

He sighed, tossing down the moss and getting out of the water.

" _Because everyone is trapped inside once they're in here, unless someone from the outside reaches in and physically pulls them through the barrier before the setting of the sun on the eighth day after their initial entry. After that, they're not getting out – at least, there's no known way, yet."_  

He shook, spraying water everywhere, drenching her.

_"Why do you think Theo arranged for you to meet up with what's left of your precious Order at Hagrid's old hut on the eighth morning? They're going to pull you through the barrier to get you free."_

She went stone-still at that, even excited as she was to hear the Order was still around. "I don't remember telling you that Nott arranged such a thing for me."

He snorted, and ruffled his hands over his fur to take off the excess moisture.

Hermione considered him for a while in silence, thinking back on everything she knew, starting the morning she'd been torn from her cell by Theodore Nott. Pieces of the bizarre puzzle began fitting into place. "He warned me not to run from you. He was clear that he didn't want me provoking your instincts to chase me." She bit her bottom lip, trying to recall Nott's exact words. "I don't think that had anything to do with you eating me, though. I think his worry stemmed from the fact that you'd mate me. But why would he believe you would attempt such a thing, rather than kill me outright?"

Draco glanced at her with something akin to snarky amusement – at least, she would have called it that, had he been human. 

_"Do you really think it was Potter I was staring at all those times I looked over at Gryffindor's table?"_

That confession packed a punch and sent her for a loop. "You were watching me?" He shrugged, acting non-committal. "Did Theodore know you used to stare at me?"

Malfoy gave her his back, but he did nod his big, wolfish head once.

"So, he knew you were interested in me, and for some unknown reason, he assumed that interest would still exist today. Which meant it was more than just a passing fancy that you must have felt for me." The idea made her heart quiver. "Is... is that why you didn't identify me to Bellatrix that day in your house?"

He snuffed, and Hermione knew that served as a grudging admission.

"Then he was right in guessing that if you caught me in the forest-"

_"I'd mate you, yes."_

"Where would he even get such an idea from, unless" –a terrible suspicion crept up on her– "you'd discussed the possibility in advance? Are you somehow in communication with each other?"

He kept his mind closed and did not turn and look at her, and Hermione suddenly knew the truth. Her blood pounded hard in her ears.

"Nott's a Werewolf, too, isn't he."

Malfoy let out an irritated growl. 

_"_ _Of course he is! I'm surprised someone with your huge brain capacity missed it. All the clues were right there for you. Do you remember the pack of giant wolves that once roamed this forest?"_

"Roam _ed_  - past tense. Are they all dead now, then?"

_"Yes. The spiders got them."_

Hermione remembered the lecture from her class that covered the topic. "I recall reading about them. They were conceived from two Werewolves who met and mated under the full moon. The female intentionally stayed in Werewolf form during the whole of her pregnancy for an unknown reason. When she gave birth some months later, the pups came out as wolves, bigger than average and with human-like intelligence. Dumbledore gave them sanctuary in the forest. Wait, are you saying that Theodore Nott–"

_"Is one of them, yes. He's the only one of the litter who came out looking human."_

Hermione remembered her gaoler's alien, golden-brown eyes – a canine's eyes, she now thought, and his unnatural strength when he went up against Zabini – a beast's strength. 

Mother of Merlin, it was true, wasn't it? Theodore Nott was really a wolf walking around on two legs.

_"His mother changed back into her human form after the birth and took Theo with her, leaving the wolf pups to Dumbledore to wean. The old man passed them off to that oaf, Hagrid... who didn't do too bad a job raising them, I suppose."_

He mumbled that last with a sort of grudging respect Hermione hadn't expected him to show towards the former groundskeeper.

"Why stay in Werewolf form during the pregnancy, though?" she wondered aloud.

 _"To lift the Werewolf's curse,"_ he answered. _"Birthing the next generation is the only known cure for Lycanthropy. Something to do with the curse magic passing on to the pups, freeing the mother."_

He shrugged those massive shoulders of his again.

_"_ _All I know is she never turned into a Werewolf again, and she lived as a normal witch. She changed her name and started over. No one really knew her here in England anyway, as she'd been from Germany originally. Then, when Theo was two, she met Thaddeus Nott and they married. Theo's mother hid her and her son's pasts from everyone, including her husband. When Theo started acting wolfish when he was around ten, his adoptive father caught on and needless to say, he was furious at being duped. He wanted to get rid of Theo - as in, permanently. His mother defended him, and she was killed for it. Theo saw the whole thing. After that, his father was tossed into Azkaban for murder, and Theo was sent to live with his aunt. A year after that, he was at Hogwarts, sharing a dorm room with me. We became best friends. I was the only one Theo told about his wolf side, and that was only because he bit me in fifth year."_

That last part in particular captured Hermione's attention. "Why would he bite you?"

Even as the words left her mouth, though, she knew. She reached up and stroked over the mark Draco had given her. "You were both only children. You were lonely, so you formed a pack of each other." She pointed at him, emphatic. "He's the reason you're different from other Werewolves, isn't he?"

Malfoy gave her a side-long glance. 

 _"His bite carried the taint of Lycanthropy, but it was a recessed form. The most it allowed me to do was talk to him with my mind. We used to cheat in classes that way."_  

"Recessed, you say? That's... interesting." 

Hermione considered that. 

When she'd been incarcerated in Azkaban, Nott had come into her cell practically every month, always on the night of the full moon; she knew because she could always see him so clearly through the light of that tiny window in her cell. After casting a  _Scourgify_  spell on her, he'd command her to lie face down on the slab she used as a cot, and mounting her from behind, would nuzzle and bite down on the side of her neck, always in the same spot. His teeth would puncture through her skin and clamp down hard, never sucking her blood like a Vampire would, but assuring with his mouth's lock on her throat that she was good and dominated by him... and unable to fight back.

The pain from his bite would inevitably make her cry out or whimper from it, and something about that moment would never fail to drive the man into a frenzy of lustful need. He'd end up tearing at his clothing under his member was freed, and then he'd push himself deep inside her and fuck her until they were both exhausted. 

Month after month, she would endure his obsession to have at her like an animal. At the time, she'd thought Nott just as twisted as the other Death Eaters in his sexual perversions, but now that she knew what he was, she had to wonder if, all along, he'd really been trying to mark her as his mate.

Yet, the question remained: why would he? She'd been nothing special to Theodore Nott throughout their school years...

She glanced over at Draco, feeling the bizarre pieces of this puzzle slip into place in her head.

No, she hadn't meant anything to Theo, as far as she knew, but she _had_ meant something to Malfoy, Theodore's pack mate: she'd been Draco's secret obsession. Had Nott been trying to make her into a Werewolf, too, all so that he could bring her into their pack and gift her to his best friend and Alpha? If so, his numerous attempts to turn her had not taken root, not even to the small extent that they had for Draco back when he'd first been bitten. She and Theo had never developed any kind of mental telepathy, and she'd never experienced any wolfish tendencies while in Azkaban.

Why had she been different in that regard?

She turned over her wrist and stared at the webbed network of blue veins just under the surface of her skin. Her blood... it had been tainted by HIV. Perhaps something about the disease itself had countered Nott's attempt to change her. Although Lycanthropy could cure human illnesses in its host, Theo's version of it was _recessed_. Perhaps he hadn't the strength to taint her with his magical disease, but the non-magical disease within her hadn't been strong enough to overcome the Lycanthropy within Theo, either. 

A viral stalemate.

There were so many questions that still needed answers, yet the one she finally decided upon asking her companion had nothing to do with her own situation. "So, how did you finally end up like"—she waved at him—"this. A hybrid Lycan, rather than a full-fledged one?"

Malfoy stared at his bestial hands with their long, sharp claws and a twisted, wolfish version of human disgust marred his features.

 _"_ _Greyback was a true Alpha. When he bit me, his Lycanthropic corruption was stronger than Theo's_ —  _purer. It activated the true curse of the Werewolf in me, but by then, my body had adapted to Theo's infection. I shifted into a bastardized mongrel instead. I lost my magical abilities and couldn't shift back at the same time, but I wasn't a mindless beast, easily controlled, so the Dark Lord threw me in here when he realised I wasn't what he expected. He thought the spiders would kill me right off. "_

"Why didn't they?" she asked, curious about that little niggling fact.

Malfoy clamped his mouth shut again.

She didn't like his sudden silence. "I'll ask you again, Draco: what happened to the other prisoners who were dropped into the forest before me?"

In an unexpectedly move that had her jumping back, Malfoy slammed his fist into the cave wall, jarring some rock loose. 

_"As soon as the Centaurs were killed off and I saw the spiders multiplying, it didn't take a fucking genius to figure out what would happen. _They're greedy and consume too much, and they breed like flies."__

He put his hands over his eyes, hiding his agony from her, even though she could keenly feel it through their bond.

 _"They took Pansy. She was the first participant of the games. The Dark Lord threw her in here to punish her father for his refusal to outright support the cause, but not even my mating her and changing her could save her from Acromantula venom. I had no medicines, no magic. She begged me to kill her, and when she died in my arms, I felt her soul burn out. It was_ — _"_

He stopped, whimpering like a wounded dog.

Hermione ached to go to him and put her arms around him, but she was unsure whether he would welcome her comfort or not. He seemed so angry just then.

_"It was the same with Astoria Greengrass, when she refused to marry Jugson. She wasn't here for more than a month before the spiders dragged her back to their lair. I couldn't get to her. I couldn't... fucking... save her!"_

Tossing his muzzle to the sky, he howled, and it was a mournful sound that broke Hermione's heart.

To hell with her fear of being rejected; her mate needed her! She went to him, held him, and gave him a safe place to release his long suffering. This poison in his soul had festered for years, and he needed to get it out.

They collapsed to their knees, and then his head was in her lap and she was stroking his long, silky ears and shushing his sobs. Later, she would hear the rest of his explanations, she decided. For now, she'd let him mourn.

Not  _too_  much later, however, as there was still entirely too much between them for her to let this situation lie... and there wasn't enough time for her to molly coddle. Before the eighth day's sunset, she had to figure out a way to get them both through that blasted barrier and to freedom, or they would both be trapped here forever.

 

* * *

 

True to her conviction, Hermione waited until Malfoy was ready to continue their discussion before bringing up the situation of their incarceration and learning the fate of those who came before her. 

Of course, that talk delayed until  _after_ her mate had worked off his frustration with some angsty, wild sex.

In the afters, she crossed to her dwindling supply of drinking water and took a long draw off the bottle, trying to wet her dry, hot mouth. Between her legs, she throbbed, sore from the pounding she'd taken, and was forced to sit back on her heels to ease the ache. 

"You're going to leave me bow-legged if we keep this up," she pointed out.

He stretched and yawned, seeming to relish in knowing he'd well-sated them both. 

_I seem to recall it was you who straddled me that time._ _  
_

"But I was on my back soon enough, wasn't I?" She sighed and wiggled, feeling his semen even then dripping out of her. The knowledge made her horny again. "God, when does this heat thing end?"

He rolled over and crawled the distance to her. 

_Never. It tapers off, gets easier, but you'll never stop wanting me._

As he pried her thighs apart and thrust his muzzle between her legs, licking her, she shivered. "And will you ever stop wanting me?"

He tipped her back onto her arse, spread her knees wide and tongue fucked her into another orgasm.

"That's cheating," she pointed out around panting breaths in the aftermath, closing her eyes as the room spun around and around. "You're trying to distract me, so I won't ask you anymore questions."

_It's working, isn't it?_

"Yes, but we can't let it," she told him, smacking his snoot and pushing him away from her nipples, when he's attempted to bathe them, too. "I need to know what happened to all the rest of the people who were dumped here in the forest." She rolled away from him and sat up. "Why didn't you help them, Malfoy?"

Draco looked away, and a heavy wave of shame slammed into her through their bond.  _"_

_I knew it was only a matter of time before the spiders would kill everything in these godforsaken woods. I didn't want to die like that - like how Pansy and Astoria had died. So, I... I made a... a hard decision about my part in the games."_

A sense of foreboding crept along Hermione's spine like any icy winter slowly overtaking the surface of a lake.

"You abandoned them to their fate, didn't you?"

His nod was curt, his jaw tight.

__"I decided I wouldn't care what happened to the prisoners thrown in here. If the spiders got them, that was one more day I'd live to see the sun rise._ " _

He sounded suddenly very weary, as if this confession were taking everything out of him.

_"_ _Time's running out though. The business of surviving the Forbidden Forest is losing its appeal to Voldemort's regime. According to Theo, Azkaban is almost out of prisoners and the Death Eaters have moved on to other interests, inventing new gladitorial combat sports where they mainly use Muggles as the contestants. With less options for prey, the spiders are hungrier than ever, and there aren't that many things left in here to keep their attention."_

Dizzy from his implication, Hermione fell back onto their pile of rags... only then realising where they'd come from: these were the things collected that had been dropped or left behind by the poor, unsuspecting prisoners who had come before her.

"You mean to tell me that you and Nott schemed together using your wolf telepathy to pick victims from the prisoners, all so the spiders would feast on them rather than on you?"

Her anger became a living, breathing fire under her skin at the very thought.

"How could you do something that despicable, Draco? How?"

He glared at her, but it was a halfhearted emotion. Through their bond, she could feel his resignation and the years of regret weighing him down.

" _Look, Theo and I didn't invent these sick games _–_ Voldemort did. The Dark Lord decided on the rules, and he decided when he wanted to play. People were getting tossed in here left and right in the beginning - Muggle-borns, rebels, even those believed to be blood-traitors. As Head Gaoler of Azkaban _–_ a title he never wanted, by the way _–Theo_ did his best to hold back those prisoners he didn't want to see die – people like you, and Lovegood, and other Order members. As for the prisoners who were sent in, I didn't hand them over to the spiders. I didn't even see most of them." _

He paused looking down at his clenched hands.

_"I _n the beginning, like I said, I tried to save a few. Like Pansy and Astoria and... others. But when the spiders got them..."__

He shuddered.

_"You can't imagine what it's like to feel someone you're mated to die in such a way, Granger."_

He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth, his pain a heavy and sharp sensation through their bond.

_"I felt Pansy. I felt Astoria. Cho Chang didn't even make it through her Werewolf transition. I tried to save her after she'd been bitten by a dozen of the smaller spiders, but all I did was make her agony worse. She died screaming in agony."_

"Because Acromantula venom is the only substance in the world that the taint of Lycanthropy can't breakdown," Hermione stated, remembering that fact from her sixth year Potions class.

God, how absolutely horrible the entire situation really was.

Draco gave a great sigh.

_"_ _After a while, I just... stopped caring. I didn't want to know any of them. Theo never lost hope, though. He was forced to participate in these sick games by the virtue of his unwanted position, but he used it to our advantage - to save me from the spiders. He sold his soul to buy me time until he could figure out a way to get me out of here."_

"There's truly no way past the barrier then?" she asked, astounded that after so long no one had been able to come up with a solution.

Her mate's great canine head shook back and forth. 

_"_ _Voldemort designed it with the games in mind from the very beginning. The roof of the spell begins five-hundred feet above the canopy. If you can get that high, you can be thrown in or fly out. As there are no dragons, no phoenixes, no sphinxes, no rocs, no hippogriffs, and no other types of bird big enough to carry a human, as well as no way to make a broom when you don't have magic of your own to enchant one, that clearly cuts off that avenue of escape. There are no other exits from this side. The only way out is if someone reaches through from the other side and pulls you past the barrier physically. And that has to be done by the eighth day by sunset, or your magical aura becomes so attuned to the magical resonation of this place that there is no getting out."_

Hermione shook her head. "I simply can't believe Nott hasn't come up with some way after all these years. Why didn't he just give someone a wand before dropping them in here, at least?"

Draco stared at her as if she'd said something extremely stupid. 

_"Every wand in the new regime is accounted for and they serve as a sort of passport for moving around from place to place. Kind of like the Kennkarte during Nazi Germany - yes, I know all about that. I wasn't that ignorant of Muggle history, Granger. The point is, only certain people are permitted wands and if you lose yours under Voldemort's New World Order, you lose your life. It's one of their key laws. And it's not like wand-making is an art they taught in school. Besides, they just burn every book they can find that contains information on the trade. They're as fascist and paranoid as the Nazis had been about the 'wrong kind' of knowledge being out there in the general population."_

Hermione sighed deeply. Burning books was the mark of a civilization's decline, she knew.

The world really had gone to hell in a handbasket, hadn't it?

"So, you're out of ideas, is that it?" she asked, embittered. "Nott's best shot after fifteen years is to toss me in here to help you brainstorm?"

_"Basically, yes. After not being able to do anything to save his mother, Theo has made it a personal pledge in life never to give up on those he loves. Hell, he'd even tried to save as many of the prisoners as he could, and he had no personal loyalty to any of them, really. He offered them a fighting chance, though, just as he offered you: survive eight days, and when the games ended and the bets were paid off, and the Dark Lord had turned his attention elsewhere, members of the resistance would move in and be waiting on the other side to get them out."_

"And how many, exactly, made it that long without your aid?" she demanded, feeling indignant for all those who'd been unlucky enough to become sacrificial lambs in the effort to keep Draco Malfoy alive longer.

He snarled. 

_"None, okay. Is that what you wanted to hear?"_

Hermione felt vaguely ill at that revelation. She'd hoped that at least one might have...

"Do you know what an Acromantula does to their victims?"

She remembered reading about it in Care of Magical Creatures class, second year, and it had given her nightmares for days after.

"They cocoon them to prevent their escape, and then liquefy their insides with venom that breaks down flesh. They eat them alive, slowly over a matter of days, and the person is fully cognizant the entire time. It's... my God, it's utterly horrific!"

He turned on her, defensive and a touch menacing for it. 

 _"_ _Do you think I don't know that? What the hell do you think happened to Astoria and Pansy?"_  

He crawled over to her, anger bristling his fur and darkening his features. 

_"Do you think I enjoy any of this? I've been trapped in here behind a magical barrier I can't break through for the last fifteen years, Granger! It's been kill-or-be-killed around here - and in case you failed to notice, there really aren't that many bodies left running around to hunt now. If the spiders don't get something to eat, I'm next on the dinner menu. Theo and I didn't invent this sick game. We just play the roles Fate has assigned for us, and pray to still be breathing and upright at the end of every day!"_

He pointed one large, clawed finger in her face.

 _"And for the record, the spiders got that Bugbear the other day – the one that attacked you. I found the trail where they overpowered it and dragged it away. I think he may have been one of the last big predators around, aside from myself. That doesn't bode well for either of us, who are unarmed and have no magic."_  

He leaned his snout down until his nose bumped hers. 

_"_ _So when they come for you, and you remember exactly how it is they kill and eat their victims, you tell me then you won't do whatever it takes to escape them."_

"Buying time by throwing innocent and defenceless people to the spiders is evil, Draco! You're sacrificing others to save your own skin. How very... Slytherin of you," she said, thoroughly disgusted. "Can I expect to be next, then, once you've no more use for me?"

Frustrated, he shook his head.

 _"Overlooking your Gryffindor self-righteousness is very trying at times, Granger, but in this case..._   _No, you're not going to be handed over to the spiders on a silver platter. Why do you think I begged Theo to choose you for the games this time?"_

"So I'd end up exactly where we are now, and I'd have no choice but to help you!"

_"Exactly! The fact that I had to turn you to save your life from the wounds you'd sustained wasn't part of the plan, I admit - that was just a perk. But yes, I asked him to send you to me because you have a unique way of looking at the world. You're a problem-solver with half the Hogwarts library stored in that amazing brain of yours. And you're a bleeding heart for lost causes, which I'm male enough to admit is the case here. I knew if anyone could find a way to get me out of here, it would be you!"_

He ran one large paw over his head, pushing his long, wolf ears flat. They stood back up almost immediately.

_"I've been here fifteen years, Granger. I'm tired of hiding and being hunted, of scrounging for food, and praying for a way out! I don't want to die, especially not if it means becoming spider food, but I'm at the end of the rope and dangling over the abyss. You, of all people, should understand and appreciate how desperate that makes a person."_

She did. Having spent years on the run after Harry's death, living in ruins and abandoned houses, and then captured and thrown into prison, she absolutely did understand what he was getting at. Yet, it was difficult for her to find much sympathy for him now that she knew how he'd managed to make it this long in such a merciless place.

How could one forgive a monster for behaving... monstrous?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR revision to this chapter - the biggest changes yet. Includes two scenes I took out of the original fest story, as I felt it slowed down the pace. I've added them back in here for you for this revision. Revised the ending of the chapter completely, too. Hope it rounds the story out a little more for you!

***.*.*.*.*.***

**DAY SEVEN**

 

Day seven's dawn rose with Hermione standing at the mouth of the cave, looking out into the dark forest. The light from above barely penetrated the canopy, even in the winter. If she'd been a Muggle, she might have found the fact odd, but she was an educated witch, and this was a magical forest and not prone to the usual laws of Nature. This was a forest that was old, and wanted to remain secret from the world.

Somewhere out there the spiders were crawling closer. She could sense their endless hunger rolling ahead of them, like a heavy, hot steam upon her neck.

Steam. Heat. Fire.

It occurred to her quite suddenly how she might destroy the spiders. The problem was, with her and Draco trapped behind the barrier, they'd be killed by any blaze that she'd set if it were released too soon and without an escape plan firmly in place. Fire was an effective, reckless solution to the problem of the Acromantulas, but it could also mean death for her and her Werewolf lover.

The alternative was to take Theodore's offer and abandon Draco to his fate.

No, she'd never. Even after everything Hermione had learned yesterday about his part in the deaths of so many people—many of them her former friends and comrades-in-arms—she still couldn't leave him behind. The thought actually pained her, causing her heart to thump too hard under her ribs.

Fine, she could admit it: she'd come to... care... for him over the last few days.

No, 'care' was too light a word for it.

The truth was, she wasn't exactly sure she was ready to consider just how deep her feelings for Draco Malfoy might go, although she would admit to possessing a healthy dose of animal lust for him. Yet, she was equally as angry at him for having stood back and done nothing for the bulk of The Game's participants, and not even his repeated, gentler love-making last night could change that fact.

Despite that confused ball of emotions rolling around inside her, Hermione knew for absolute certain she'd never desert him. It wasn't who she was at her core, and she refused to allow the Death Eaters to turn her into a cold-hearted shell.

Of course, there was also a very practical reason for wanting to save Draco's hide: to try what Theodore Nott's mother had and to break the curse of the Werewolf. Nott was recessed and most likely incapable of giving her what she needed to be free of a monthly transformation, but Draco was an Alpha, and that just might do the trick. She'd try to find a way to help him escape this prison and in return, if they succeeded, he'd help her break the Werewolf curse.

Again, the thought of any disloyalty towards him caused her to feel queerly ill, and made her break out in a light sweat.

She had to do it! The thought of enduring monthly transformations, of the pain as her bones broke over and over again... She'd been unconscious through most of her first transformation, but the little she had experienced made it clear to her that she couldn't go through that again. She wanted to be free of all magical enchantments upon her, and breaking the Werewolf curse was top of the list.

Draco would fight her on it, of course. She would expect no less from him. But in the end, she knew she'd prevail by appealing to him with logic. After all, wouldn't he want her to come to him of her own free will, rather than be compelled to by some awful curse?

But before that, for her first, big trick, she needed a way to get Draco outside the barrier of the forest. Everything else was moot until she'd accomplished that much. Somehow, someway, she had to steal him past the wards like some kind of slippery fish...

A fish getting past the wards.

By God, that was it!

The answer to their problem came to her in a flash, and the solution was so simple, she laughed with joy.

Immediately, she opened her connection to pack, reaching out across the miles to Theodore Nott. To her surprise, he was closer than she'd expected – to the west of her current position, close to Hogwarts.

_"Hermione?"_

He sounded astonished to receive her call.

 _"How do the shackles in Azkaban work?"_  she asked, closing her eyes and concentrating hard. This was more difficult than she'd expected.  _"Is the spell melded into the metal or does it only work when activated by a wand?"_

_"The ones you wore, you mean? They're active the moment they lock around someone's wrists. T_ _he warding is built into the metal, no wand necessary. Why?"_

_"All I'd need to do was to lock them around a witch or wizard, and it would turn that person into a Squib, cutting them off from all magic, right?"_

She could feel him trying to puzzle out why she'd ask such a thing.

 _"Theoretically, yes,"_  he answered.  _"They'd become mundane immediately and remain that way until the shackles were removed."_

That was good news. Now for the hard part.  _"Have you ever worn them yourself?"_

His hesitation was telling. 

_"I wanted to know what they did to you, and if they caused you any pain. I... I didn't want that for you. Please believe me, I never wanted that for you."_

No time to have that discussion. It could come later, once they were out of this godforsaken place.

_"_ _Did you feel whether or not they affected the curse magic that makes you a Werewolf?"_

He was quiet a moment, and she could feel his regret and nervousness pouring though the open conduit between their linked minds. Hermione had to remind herself not to sympathise too much, as he had sent countless innocents to their deaths. Yes, it had been to save his best friend and wolf-brother, but still...

 _"Honestly, I don't remember,"_  he admitted.

_"Can you get another set before tomorrow morning and try it out as an experiment?"_

" _I could, but I'd have to return to Azkaban. I just snuck out of there and hooked up with the Order so we can come get you tomorrow morning. First time in fifteen years I've breathed the free air, too, you know."_

_"Wait, you're actually part of the Order, not just helping them? Since when?"_

That was news to her.

 _"I was Snape's protégé, so... since fifth year,"_  he admitted.

_"The same year you bit Draco and made him part of your pack."_

Wasn't that an interesting coincidence.

She could feel his embarrassment through their connection.

_"_ _Oh, he... um, told you about that, did he?"_

_"Were you trying to bring him over to the Order, too?"_

Theodore sighed, and it came across as a heavy vibration in her skull. 

_"Yes. I waited too long to pitch the idea to him, though. By then, you and Potter had had Draco's father thrown in prison for the whole Ministry break-in thing. Draco refused to listen to anyone then. He was hell-bent on revenge, the bloody fool."_

His dissatisfaction with the outcome of that event blanketed them both in a thick, humid fog of regret.

_"All right. I'll do it. I'll go back to Azkaban. If I'm caught, though, there will be questions about where I'd gone. Could get messy."_

She knew what she was asking of him was very dangerous, maybe even suicidal, but there was no choice. They were running out of time. 

_"If you care for him as you say you do, it's worth the risk._ _If I'm right, cutting off the Werewolf's magical curse and turning him mundane might be Draco's only way to cross the barrier after being in here so long."_

_"I don't understand,"_ Theodore admitted.

 _"Creatures without magic can move through the barrier freely,"_  she explained. _"The wards around the forest are only intended to keep magical beings and creatures trapped, because those are the only kinds of threats Voldemort was worried about restraining when he set it up. The mundane seem able to come and go as they please, however."_

_"How do you know?"_

Hermione tried not to take Theodore's scepticism personally. 

 _"One, because there are mundane creatures living in the forest right now that could not have been born in here. I'm standing at the entrance of the den and I'm staring, right this second, at a Hooded crow sitting on a tree limb across from me. He's been tagged with a Muggle bird band to track his movements for scientific study. As their species tends to live less than six years in the wild, and the barrier's been up for over fifteen, logic dictates that he wasn't hatched in the forest, but he must have flown in from outside. And two–"_ She cringed just remembering the details. _ _"–Draco killed a Mermaid the day of my change, and brought her into the den for dinner."_   _She nearly gagged at the memory. _ _"He said he'd caught her because she'd followed some minnows into the shallows near the shoreline. Again, we see the barrier is indiscriminate as to magical status to get inside. However, when Draco chased the Mermaid, the fish were able to swim back through the barrier and escape out into the open Loch, but the Mermaid hadn't been able to follow them. Once she was inside the wards, she couldn't get back out. That was how he was able to catch her. A few days later, he brought in a dead Murtlap, which had followed in some wandering crayfish. Same deal – the crayfish got out, but the Murtlap was trapped. In both cases, the magical creature couldn't move out of the barrier, but the mundane creatures seemingly could."__

_"Holy shit."_

Hope flooded through her from Theodore's end, and she felt his excitement levels jump three degrees.

_"So, you think that c _utting Draco off from all magic by using the shackles will change his aura, making him the same as a Muggle. That would force him out of phase with the barrier and thus able to cross it!"__

_"Exactly."_

Theodore whooped in triumph.

__"Merlin, I'd never considered that angle before! You're utterly brilliant, you know?"_  
_

_"Yes, well, don't send the 'congrats, you're free' party invitations out yet,"_ she cautioned.  _"My idea hinges on two important factors: first, the very slim chance that the shackles will not be shorted out by the barrier when they come into contact with it, and second, whether or not we can actually nullify a Werewolf curse. That's why I need you to go back to Azkaban and test it out. If it doesn't work..."_

She left the rest unspoken, knowing what the consequence would be for Draco if they failed – death by spider or fire.

Thank Godric she still had that vial with the Draught of Living Death left.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, as she sat and nibbled on a beef strip, sucking at it like a piece of hard candy to savour the rich, meaty flavour, she asked Malfoy the one question that had been niggling about in her head since the previous day.

"If you and Nott have been working together for years, and you're such good friends, then why did he try to warn me not to get too close to you?"

A deep, resonating growl reverberated around the cave, and she stopped what she was doing to stare at her partner with wide, wary eyes.

_"Because where you're concerned, Granger, he's always challenged my authority. Since we were in school, he'd constantly hound me to leave you be."_

"Why?"

He sighed in irritation.

_"Why do you think? Do you really believe Voldemort just ignored you for the better part of the last several years, since your capture? Of course not! Theo's manipulated, schemed, and fought to keep you out of the Dark Lord's path and under his protection all that time. He's done it because he's wanted you for his mate since he was thirteen - and not just for sex and pups. He fancies himself in love with you."_

That claim rounded her eyes and made her jaw drop.

"That's... impossible. If he was so enamoured of me, why did he let me rot in that prison?" she demanded, her incredulity morphing into anger in a flash.

_"Because the Dark Lord wanted you under his thumb, and he tasked Theo to make sure you stayed there. If Theo had refused, he'd have been removed from his position, at best, or outright killed, and then someone else would have been your caretaker – someone like that bastard, Zabini."_

He tossed a small stone into the hot spring, clearly agitated. 

_"_ _The only reason Theo was able to get the Dark Lord to agree to toss you in here at all was because Voldemort thinks you're no longer a threat. Seems, my former Master is ready to move on to other, bigger ambitions, like planning to conquer the continent. Theo convinced him that your death would signify the successful end of the conquest of Britain, and the old fool bought it... All so I could get you in here to help me figure out a way to escape."_

Something curious caught her attention, and of course, she couldn't help but poke at it. "Did you know that every time you say Theodore's name in my presence, you sound angry. Why is that?"

Draco seemed taken aback by that observation.

_"No, I'm not... I'm... Fuck!"_

He stood up and violently hurled another stone into the water, this time with force enough for it to make a 'kerplunk' noise when it hit the surface.

_"He's everything to me! I owe him my life many times over, and yet... yet... there's a part of me that wants to... to rip his sodding head off!_ _"_

His large, bestial hands curled into fists at his side as he struggled to contain his more aggressive nature.

Hermione was almost afraid to push for a reason, but when she opened her mouth to change the subject, instead she heard herself ask, "Is it because of me?"

Poke. Poke. Poke.

Draco's savage, wolf-grey eyes shot to hers, locking on, holding true. 

_"Wolves mate for life, Granger. Until one dies, the other will never let go. If we get out of here, brother or not, I'll not let Theo touch you again. So... don't do anything to make me kill him."_

Surprise at such an unexpected declaration was her only excuse for not running as he came towards her and took her to the ground again. He was nearly all animal then, that spark of humanity that was his in between the fur and the sharp angles barely visible as the Lycan reasserted itself.

The female wolf within Hermione rose to greet him, more than willing, eager even to submit to her Alpha's claim once more. Quickly, she turned her onto her hands and knees, presenting her backside to him, whining in the back of her throat with heat and need.

There was no pause, no foreplay. Draco mounted her and held tight to her hips to prevent her from fighting him off. Her body instantly reacted to his touch, of course, and she was more than ready and slick for him as he slid into her and claimed her once again.

He fucked her with strength, pounding deep and true, snarling in her ear the entire time to reinforce his claim as her mate.

 _"You will never let him touch you again,"_  he growled in her mind.  _"You're mine."_

The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming and dizzying, that tears leaked down Hermione's cheeks. She moved with him, rocking her body in time with his as much as she was able to.

"God, don't stop. Don't stop!"

Pulling her up into a half-kneeling position, he pressed her back tight to his chest and pressed his muzzle to the mark at her throat.

 _"I'm going to knot you so fucking hard, you'll feel it deep in your heart,"_  he promised her, and when he was ready to come, he did exactly as he'd vowed. He swelled so thick within her and locked their bodies together so tightly that when he began to spurt his release, not a drop of his seed was able to escape.

And yes, Hermione felt it... all the way through her wild she-wolf's heart.

 

* * *

 

"You know you're just buying time," she stated, allowing the hot water of the spring to soak into her sore muscles. "They'll come here for you eventually."

God, she could feel the bruises at her hips and at the juncture of her thighs already purpling! Thankfully, she knew her altered genetics would heal them quickly, but for the moment, she could feel those spots without touching them. And she was so sore inside that she was finding it difficult not to wince every time she so much as twitched. A part of her thought that Draco did to her should be illegal; each time he touched her, he messed her up, yet in the afters, he left her humming and hoping for more. Everything always hurt with him, and yet she'd never felt so sexually satisfied in her life.

It was an unresolved conundrum, this battle between her head, her body, and her heart.

Draco lay on his side in the exact spot he'd collapsed after their rather athletic session, staring up at the ceiling. His pink tongue lolled from his mouth to advertise his supreme physical satisfaction.  _"_

_What are you gibbering on about, Granger?"_

"Acromantulas are a treacherous species—even more so than you Slytherins," she explained, tweaking an eyebrow at him for daring to refer to her commentary as 'gibbering'. "I bet they've been keeping tabs on you since you first got here. Probably have a sentinel stationed outside this cave all the time, perched somewhere in the tree line so you won't see them, just watching and waiting for the right moment. Their species hasn't survived several extinction events for nothing, you know."

His tongue rolled back into his mouth as he sat up, tossing her an adorably confused expression. 

_"I have no idea what an 'extinction event' is, although with a name like that, I could fathom a guess."_

Oh, that's right. She'd forgotten that Muggle science wasn't something typically taught to pure-blood wizards... especially those born with a polished silver eating utensil in their mouths. "Extinction events are massive and rapid sudden losses of biological diversity caused by some sort of catastrophic incident. The entire established food chain is disrupted world-wide as a result, sometimes even collapsing entirely in the more devastated areas. Asteroid impacts, super-volcano eruptions, gargantuan cyclonic storms that tear across wide swaths of land and ocean, and cross-species plagues are some such causes," she explained. "The last major extinction event was the K-T event, approximately 65-66 million years ago. It killed off the dinosaurs, as well as the pterosaurs, the mosasaurs, the plesiosaurs, the ammonites..."

Draco rolled his eyes.

_"Are we going to see the point any time soon,_ _or do you just plan to talk me into the grave?"_

She sighed.

Murder by strangulation could be considered a justifiable homicide under the right circumstances, right?

"The point, my impatient wolf, is that Acromantulas are an extant araneomorph spider, of the Family Ctenidae – the most venomous spiders the planet has ever known. Their evolutionary ancestry can be traced back 250  _million_  years. Anything that could survive that long—that could not only endure, but recover from three of the five major mass extinction events in the history of the world—is not something you should  _ever_  let out of your sight. You should be spying on them, not vice-versa."

Malfoy scratched at his chest with his long nails and simply stared at her, silent and unblinking, as if willing her to understand what he wasn't saying.

She used the connection between them to probe his thoughts, to try to read him. The answer, when she found it, was astonishing.

"You have been spying on them."

He gave her a wolfish grin. 

_"Surprised to find out I'm no dummy, hmm?"_

She rolled her eyes, and recalled one of his more witty come-backs from third year: "'Malfoys breed money, not morons'. I remember. So, tell me what you've discovered about the enemy that's got you so nervous."

Draco lost his amusement in a beat as the discussion turned suddenly serious.

_"About a year ago, their old Queen was killed. Her successor has been mating and laying eggs like mad ever since, trying to solidify her hold over the nest. She's let her children feast on the older spiders to get them out of the way for her young. That distraction bought me about thirteen extra months I probably wouldn't have had. Now, though, they've thinned the herd out and have turned back to other prey in the forest."_

"That's why you sent for me," she realised. "Because you knew your clock was running out. You were desperate to try anything that would help you escape."

He came and sat at the water's edge.

_"Theo's told me you have a theory about how to accomplish that."_

She filled him in on the details. He tossed her a proud grin when she was finished.

_"Clever, my love-mate. I knew I could count on you!"_

Hermione felt his sweet endearment tear a hole wide open in her chest and expose her in a way she hadn't thought possible with the likes of him.

"Don't call me that!"

She crossed her arms over her breasts and sunk down low into the water, trying to ignore the way her cheeks heated upon hearing such a thing from him. Honestly, they hardly knew each other! Well, except in a very basic, very carnal way... And that was the point, wasn't it. Although Draco treated her better than her former Death Eater captors, she was still very much his prisoner, and had been brought here to serve his specific purposes.

"I'm not your love. You're just using me."

Draco was suddenly in the water up to his hips, his face in hers, his Alpha-ness a dominant force in her mind and on her heart. He didn't even need to snarl for her to feel his displeasure. 

_"I've had you, repeatedly, in just about every way possible._ _Just how intimate do we have to be for me to call you what you are to me?"_

Firmly she shook her head, and refused to back down.

"A 'mate' is a term of endearment for someone you hold in high esteem and carry an abiding affection for, and a 'love' implies you actually feel something of that same emotion for the person. You don't like me as a friend, Draco, much less love me. You want me, that much is obvious, but loving someone and wanting them are two entirely different matters. Wanting doesn't require you to respect me at all, which you clearly don't."

His head snapped back as if she'd slapped him, and his ears and eyes flared with surprise at that accusation.

"I'm not an idiot, you know," she hissed, working herself up into a righteous fury. "You probably could have held out when I went into heat, but you didn't even attempt to do so, did you? You intentionally gave me a mating mark so that if I did get pregnant, I couldn't do to you what Theodore's mother did to the Werewolf who mated her and just leave without a backward glance. As your marked mate, I'm now tied to you on a deeper level, in a way that's intrinsic and sacred to wolves. I felt it earlier when we—"

She cut herself off, refusing to give a name to what they'd done, as it was hard enough to admit that her feelings had been manipulated so spectacularly by the one man in the universe she should have known better than to trust.

"In doing what you done, you've made sure I'll emotionally pay if I try to leave you later. I'll feel your loss for as long as I live, won't I, just as you feel Pansy and Astoria and Cho's loss even now?"

He said nothing, but from his defeated posture, she knew she'd hit the nail on the head.

"You selfish bastard!" She stood up and poked him in his furry chest, her anger making her daring. "If you'd really loved me at all, you'd have put my needs first—including my need for freedom. I've been a prisoner for half my life, living under horrible conditions, just as you have, and yet even knowing that and experiencing it for yourself, you had no intention of giving me the power to choose my own life!"

God, it hurt to know her suspicions, doubts, and fears over the last couple of days were actually legitimate notions, and that Draco had duped her all along. The truth, she suddenly realised, was not a relief. Instead, it fettered her as surely as Azkaban's abominable shackles had done.

"How could you do this to me, Draco? How  _could_  you?"

That last was uttered on a sob, and she quickly turned away, giving him her back, as she furiously wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

"So, no, I don't consider you my mate or my true love, and I'll ask you not to call me either of those things again."

Waves of deep disappointment and regret rippled through the bond that connected them. It swelled around her, nearly buckling her knees with its intensity.

Climbing out of the water, Draco stalked out of the cave without a word, his hurricane of emotions billowing after him, leaving Hermione wondering how they moved on from here. She broke down into sobs. How could she possibly forgive him for what he'd done? Could she never trust him? Would he help or hinder her attempt to get to the barrier near Hagrid's cottage tomorrow morning?

No, he would most certainly help her escape, despite this fight, if only because he knew she'd never leave him behind. Self-preservation was, after all, a very Slytherin priority.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only small revisions here and there this chapter over the original fest piece.

After the blow-up with Malfoy, Hermione had little to do but concentrate on generating a fire using wandless magic, and to wait for Theodore Nott to contact her regarding the bracelets.

About two hours after the argument, while her partner was still out sulking, she managed to accomplish the first goal: she'd conjured fire. Quickly, she rushed around looking for a way to save it before it went out, but by the time she'd returned from the cave entrance with a branch she could use, she'd missed her chance. It took her another ten minutes of concentration and another small pile of rushes to make it happen again. By the third try, she was well on her way to mastering the spell – and to feeling comfortable again with her magic.

It was while she was taking a break, washing up in the hot spring, that Nott contacted her.

_"The magic innate to being a Werewolf doesn't work with the bracelets on!"_

She paused, asking him to verify how he knew such a thing.

_"Because I tried calling for you for the last twenty minutes while wearing them, and I felt a mental wall between us. I couldn't feel you. Could you hear me?"_

_"No,"_  she confirmed.  _"I never heard you or felt you. Try Malfoy now. See if you can reach him."_

She waited five minutes.

_"Nott?"_

He sounded panicked when he finally replied.

_"I can't feel Draco at all, even when I take the bracelets off._ _He's not answering me. What's going on?"_

Hermione quickly stood up and reached for her cloak, using it to dry off as she got out of the steaming water.

" _We had a fight. He stormed off. It's been a few hours."_

Nott's long, ranting condemnation of both her and Malfoy was quite colourful, but ultimately, not helpful. Hermione finally had to tell him to shut up, so she could reach out and try to connect with Draco. She closed her eyes, concentrating... There was nothing. No connection. Draco was simply not there.

That awful feeling of dread and alarm came over her once more.

 _"I'm going out to find him,"_ she told Nott, and grimacing, went through the pile of rags and pulled out a shirt and a pair of trousers that still, mostly, held together at the hems. They smelled terrible and were stained with all manner of things, but they were all she had to work with. 

_"Be careful, Hermione. It would kill Draco to lose you now."_

_"I'll be careful, I promise. You, too, Theo."_

She paused.

_"And, in case I don't get a chance to say it again, thank you for saving me. For years, you risked everything to heal me and protect me, and I never knew the dangers you'd faced on my behalf. I never understood how hard it was for you to be spying for the Order, yet pretending to be evil, all while trying to suppress your wolf's instincts and hide your... condition from the others. How you juggled all that without going insane, I'll never know. And... it must have been painful wanting the same woman your best friend and Alpha wanted, too, knowing that you'd have to eventually step back and let me go to him once it was inevitable that I'd be needed by him. That was very brave of you. All of it has been. I... I can never repay you, Theodore Nott."_

She could feel his embarrassment through the link just before she closed it down on her end.

Mind now completely focussed on her task of finding Draco, she slipped her feet into her cobbly, worn shoes, donned her cloak, and grabbed the pouch Theodore had given her, tying it to a belt she'd fished from the pile of discarded clothing as well. Then, on the way out of the cave, as a precaution, she took the branch she'd used as an experimental firebrand. It would come in handy as a bludgeoning weapon, at the very least.

After all, one never knew what monsters, aside from the spiders, might be still lurking out there in the forest, waiting for her to be alone and defenceless.

 

* * *

 

For two hours, she mentally called for Malfoy, to no avail. By that time, she'd travelled far into the forest, where it grew darker, following the scent of fresh blood. 

The first warning that she'd stepped into Acromantula territory came when she spied thin filaments of silk clinging to tree bark. Using her firebrand, she poked at it, getting a good wad of the sticky substance onto the end of her stick. It was freshly spun, as it still had that tell-tale glimmering pearl sheen to it.

Clutching the oak branch in her hand, she continued on, resolute in finding Malfoy. By now, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd fallen foul of the spiders, for his wet-dog scent was strong in the air.

The darkness closed in around her the deeper into the wood she walked.

She concentrated, reaching for her magic to summon fire so she could have a torch, at least, to see by...

Flames burst to life at the end of the thick stick she carried, and she felt an odd, magical resonance vibrate up her arm and into her chest. By the Founders, it felt just like she was holding a wand in her hand! 

Staring at the stick, Hermione was flabbergasted. How was this possible? Had she accidentally created some sort of primitive wand? It  _was_  oak wood, a material that was known for making excellent, beginner wands, and the Acromantula web could be used, she supposed, as a medium through which her natural energies could be augmented, much like a wand core. Acromantula webbing was, in fact, one of the materials that had previously been used in exactly such a manner, according to a book she'd once read on the subject. It had been illegal since the 1780's, though, because of its strong ties to dark magical energies.

She quickly tried another spell for reference. Pointing her firebrand up at the sky, she waved it properly and cast,  _"Avis."_

A flock of small song birds popped into existence right over her head and circled round and round – and it had felt like the most natural and easiest thing to accomplish! There had hardly been any effort on her part. 

She stared at her make-shift wand and grinned.

Well, this was certainly one for the books! Perhaps this was how wand-making had come into being, back during the early days of mankind, when wizards and witches were first discovering how to channel magic.

"Ollivander, eat your heart out!" she muttered under her breath, giddy from her discovery.

She cancelled the bird conjuring spell, and suddenly felt a whole lot more confident about her trek into spider territory. She had the means to defend herself at long last—and to burn the lot of them if any dared cross her. Summoning a bright ball of white light, she set it to floating in front of her, up into the air, illuminating the forest around her...

Dozens of hairy, chitinous legs scrabbled backwards, seeking the cover of darkness, and an odd clicking noise was heard all around and above her. The arachnids, it seemed, had been closing in on her without her knowledge. They'd been about to ambush her.

Disgusting, perfidious creatures!

She wasted no time in casting,  _"Arania Exumai"_ , blasting the giant spiders backwards and sending them scuttling in retreat. They weren't very brave, even in numbers, it seemed.

She then cast the Conjunctivitis Curse at everything still moving around her, causing spiders to let out high-pitched, pained screams as their eight eyes swelled shut and began to ooze and crust over.

Moving forward, steady and unflinching, Hermione kept a ring of hexes and curses going, including ones for any attackers attempting to swoop down from the tree limbs above. At one point, when she appeared surrounded, she cast a Firestorm around the area in a desperate attempt to kill off the enemy and ward off those with the intention of coming closer. Spiders scrabbled everywhere to get out of the fire's path, and with the help of a  _"Partis Temporus"_ , Hermione was able to make her escape from the deadly ring of fire.

Stumbling on, coughing from the smoke and stench of burned spider, she eventually came to an quiet clearing where a giant tree stood. From its branches hung hundreds of cocoons containing the dead victims of the spiders. Most of them were bones that she recognised—Centaurs, Hippogriffs, Blast-Ended Skrewts, Trolls, a few people-sized ones, and one huge web that she shuddered to think might have actually contained Grawp. Some of the cocooned prey were relatively fresh, however, and their rotting carcasses fouled the air. A few of them even weakly moved. She recognised the Bugbear, and a Merperson, both of whom were already in a state of partial decay.

A sob worked its way up Hermione's throat, and she covered her mouth.

_"Gran...ger"_

She turned, and there, being pinned to a nearby tree by a giant arachnid that was easily the size of a juvenile dragon was Malfoy. The cunning spider had it dark, glittering eyes on her, and one leg pressed against his throat. The implication was clear: if she moved, it would crush his windpipe.

This, then, must be the new Queen.

Hot, feral anger boiled Hermione's blood. This bitch had her mate!

Yes, Draco was her mate, like it or not—which meant he was _hers..._  and she'd had enough of people taking what belonged to her away. No more!

"I've got a better idea," she countered, speaking directly to the Spider Queen, knowing their species was sentient and could even speak the human tongue, as Aragog had proven long ago. "You let the Werewolf go, and I let you live." Just to prove she meant business, she called fire again to the end of her make-shift wand. "Otherwise, I'll burn this whole forest down with a spell you won't be able to run from or put out."

When the spider seemed to understand and consider whether she was bluffing or not, Hermione made her stance very clear. "Cross me, and you and your children will die screaming under my wand. Your webs will burn to ash. Your kind will be extinct when I'm through with you!"

The giant spider seemed to believe her, for she slowly moved her woolly, segmented leg away, and skittered closer to the hole at the trunk of the giant tree, where her lair was apparently located. Hermione kept a solid distance between them as she made her way over to Malfoy.

With a quick spell, she had him freed, and another made him feather-light.

"Can you climb on my back and hold on?" she asked him, warily watching the Queen Spider, knowing the thing was biding its time, looking for an opening to pounce.

Malfoy did as she bade, and he hardly weighed a thing, thanks to magic. Keeping her eyes and ears open, using all of her senses—both human and Werewolf—Hermione backtracked, getting ready to sprint away.

In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have looked up at just that moment, but something caught her attention and her body seemed to pause on its own, forcing her to look up. When she peered closely at the unexpected distraction, and her brain finally understood what it was she was looking at in all its gory magnificence, she nearly lost the contents of her stomach.

Hermione had always been envious of Parvati Patil's long, black hair when they'd been in school together. She'd often prayed for her own hair to one day straighten and be as shiny and straight as her Housemate's. It was that glorious mane that identified her now, strung up in a cocoon, hanging down from a branch. The witch was, thankfully, very dead. However, from the angle Hermione was looking up, she could clearly see that her old friend hadn't died well.

A husk. That's what Parvati reminded her of; a see-through pea pod that was empty of its magical fruit. Only its structure remained in place, supported as it was by the webbing, and even that was slowly rotting away. Many of Parvati's bones and some of her teeth had already been removed and had been hollowed, too, their juicy marrow removed. Baby spiders no bigger than her hand were climbing in and out, like playing a wet game of tag amongst the ruin of her former friend's face and chest cavity, seeking scraps to nourish them.

Something in Hermione snapped. Some bit of her sanity ran shrieking into the night, and a bit of the witch she'd once been was destroyed by the scene before her. A hot, animal's rage bubbled up, burst forth. She howled and it was a wolf's scream.

She called up Fiendfyre and let it loose directly at the body of her dead friend, crisping it and its parasites, and then she turned it towards on the lair of the Queen Spider. She swung her firebrand about and let the magical flames have at anything and everything that moved or hung or had stood the test of time. The spiders screeched and ran before the fiery image of a lion as it roared and ate up everything in its path, but she sent the fire to chase them—a monster chasing monsters.

She laughed like a mad woman as she watched the evil arachnids engulfed and consumed, wanting them to know how it felt to be trapped, to see Death coming for them, and to know there was no escape... just as Parvati and the hundreds of victims here had known.

 _"Have to run,"_  Malfoy commanded her, summoning strength from somewhere deep within him.  _"_ _Move your arse, woman!"_

His Alpha-ness forced its way to the front of her brain, returned some rationality to her temporary madness. She turned and ran, letting the Fiendfyre burn out of control behind her. On all sides, spiders of all sizes scampered away, not to chase her down, but to escape the destructive force she'd unleashed. She knew that eventually they'd be trapped by the barrier, unable to get out. They'd die no matter how hard they ran.

And so would she and Malfoy, if she didn't get them as close to Nott's rendezvous point as possible. The fire would take a while to get that far, so there was still a chance...

"Which way to Hagrid's hut?" she asked, hoping they were going in the right direction, and that it wasn't back the way they'd just come. The billowing cloud of smoke that rolled in like a carcinogenic fog made it a little difficult to see.

Weakly, Malfoy lifted his arm and pointed off to the northeast from their current position. Hermione adjusted her course, heading in a diagonal from her previous destination. This would take them away from the caves, but there was no reason to go back there now. She had her bag, her cloak, and her shoes, and the shackles she needed were inside the bag. She didn't think Malfoy had anything of personal value that he kept (at least, nothing that she'd seen).

All they had to do now was reach Hagrid's old cottage alive.

 

* * *

__

It took an hour or so (and several curses and hexes to get the spiders to keep running by, and not to consider stopping to snack on them) to get to the edge of the forest precisely where she was to meet Theodore and his people the next morning at dawn.

Which was probably about ten hours away, if Hermione was judging the night time sky above them correctly. 

The first thing she did was set up wards around the spot they'd claimed for their own rest.

The second was to look at Malfoy's wounds. The minute she got a good look at it, she began swearing under her breath. He'd been bitten by that spider bitch. The Queen had already set in motion the means to kill him before Hermione had ever turned her make-shift wand on the nest.

"Treacherous, foul creature!" she snarled, working on a way to heal the damage and extract the venom.

Feebly, Malfoy laughed, and it came out as a wheezing, wuffing noise. 

 _"That reminds me of third year, only I was the foul thing, then. You gave it to me good that one time. 'The Slap Heard 'Round The World' they called it in my House."_  

He gripped the area right under his wound, wincing.

" _You are the most vicious Gryffindor I've ever met, you know. It's funny, but I love you for that more than for your goody-good nature."_

She paused, glanced up at his glassy eyes and his sweaty, pained expression.

"That's the injury talking. Just be still, will you? Healing spells aren't my strength."

He feigned surprise. 

_"There's something you don't know how to do perfectly?"_

"When would I ever have had an opportunity to read a book on treating spider injuries?" she archly asked, using the firebrand-wand to attempt to suck the venom out of him without taking his blood with it.

 _"Maybe the same time you read about two Werewolves mating under a full moon and conceiving pups,"_  he countered.

"That was for Care of Magical Creatures class," she countered. "Shhh, now, will you? I'm trying to concentrate."

He whined as she began drawing the poison out, but to her dismay, the blood that welled up around the bite wound was a strange purplish colour that looked a little too thick. When she pressed on the flesh near the bite wound, it was too soft and squishy underneath. Hermione's chest tightened as she realised what that might mean. He'd been bitten not by any old spider, but by the Queen, herself – whose venom was probably twice as potent and fast-acting.

Malfoy's time was running out.

_"THEODORE! I need you here, now! Hurry!"_

There was no response. When she reached out again, she felt a queer, vast emptiness between them, much as she had when Draco had been unconscious after the arachnid had attacked him and dragged him to her lair.

_"THEODORE!"_

_"He can't answer,"_  Malfoy explained, his breathing becoming laboured.  _"Zabini... caught him at the prison. Arrested him... for desertion. He let me know just before... they came for him. They'll be coming here. You can't stay. The fire... will be coming soon, too. See?"_

She turned and looked over her shoulder. He was right; the Fiendfyre was thoroughly winding its way through the forest, confined by the barrier as it was. It was definitely getting closer, too.

They didn't have ten hours to wait. Maybe two, at the most, and then it would be on them. And she didn't know the spell to turn it off, only that _'Finite Incantatum'_ wasn't it.

"You wouldn't happen to know the counter-curse to Fiendfyre, would you?" she asked her companion.

Tiredly, he shook his head. 

_"_ _You need to go. You can pass through the barrier... if you go now. Run."_

She blinked at him as tears filled her eyes.

"What are you saying? I won't leave you here to die!"

_"I'm dead already. I can feel it. This spider stuff... moves fast."_

She gripped his massive paw between her two hands.

"Don't say that! There has to be another way."

Her brain moved furiously over every option, trying to think of some way out of the predicament.

With a shaky hand, he reached up and touched her cheek. 

_"Be free... finally."_

"No, see, you can't do this," she protested, choking up. "You can't just become all heroic and self-sacrificing. It's not very Slytherin of you."

_"Tired of... lying and... scheming."_

He glanced at her with tears in his wolf's eyes.

_"Seven days... was worth waiting... twenty years."_

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Had he really carried a torch for her for two decades? Was that the real reason he'd asked her to come here, and why he'd mated her?

_"I put you first, Hermione."_

Furiously, she shook her head.

"You can't make me leave! I'm not leaving you!"

He huffed. 

_"_ _Go, Gran...ger."_

Her last name came out a garbled mess, tangling on his tired tongue. 

_"Get... lost."_

"Make me," she choked out.

He exhaled a very canine sigh, his eyelids drooping.

_"I don't... want you to see me die. Malfoys... don't... die well."_

"Then don't let go. Stay with me," she whispered around her falling tears. "I've decided I might want you to be my mate after all, Draco, so... please."

He gave a rather feral, dog-like grin, even as his eyes closed. 

 _"Funny you thought... I was starin' at Potter... all those times,"_ he said, his words slurred, his breath failing.

The roar of the Fiendfyre in the background almost drowned his fading words out, but Hermione had heard him, not by using her Werewolf's enhanced hearing, but by using her heart.

She stood up, let go of his hand, reached into her bag, and pulled out the shackles.

He was right. It was time for them both to be free.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A revision to this chapter, too, from the original fest piece.

***.*.*.*.*.***

_**FIVE YEARS LATER...** _ **  
**

__

Hermione lay the conjured white rose and her relic firebrand-wand down in front of the snow-covered gravestone, and then stepped back to say her final goodbyes. This was the last of them; she'd already visited Harry, Ron, Ginny, Parvati, and the others. Now, there was only  _him_  to memorialize.

It would be her final goodbye to them all, too, as she'd determined she wouldn't be coming here anymore. It was time to let go of the past, and to move on, now that Voldemort had been brought down and the world had moved on.

It had begun twenty-some-odd years ago with Theodore Nott, who had risked everything to save his best friend and blood brother from his deadly exile, and it had ended five years ago when the Dark Lord had had his throat ripped out by Teddy Lupin. Werewolves had begun it, and they'd ended it... and then they'd scattered to the four winds, knowing that the world would never truly accept them, with or without a Dark Lord in the picture.

_"Ready to go, love?"_

Nodding, Hermione drew her cloak in tight, and shoved her hands in the pockets to keep them warm. Her breath was a chilled cone in the air as she sighed, staring at the way the Cold Moon shown down on the raised 'D' and the 'O' on the headstone.

"For a long time, I was so angry with him for everything he'd done to me, but really, he'd saved my life by sending me to you," she stated, feeling an odd melancholy seize her. "I thanked him for it before the end, but still... I'll never be able to repay that debt." She gripped the area over her heart where an empty space had taken up residence since his death, feeling the hole in their pack that he'd left behind when his soul had burned out. It still pained her, even after all this time. "He wasn't mine, not like you are, but I still feel his loss. It's like... something's perpetually off. Like looking at a picture that's tilted and hanging all wrong, and I know it's skewed, but because it's too far away from me, I can never fix it. It bothers me, almost to the point of obsession if I think too long on it. And when I focus on something else, it still lingers in my mind. I'm never _not_ aware of it. Does that make sense?" 

From the corner of her eye, she watched as her companion's shadow tilted its head, as if to say, "yes".

"Is this how you feel whenever you think about him?"

He nodded.

"Does it ever go away, this... heart memory?"

_"No. Pack bonds never fade."_

He glanced at her through hooded eyes.

_"The same with mate bonds."_

"Ah." She sighed and reached out, blindly asking for his hand. "I suppose there's no use for it then: you'll just have to come home with me."

_"You sure? I don't know if I can control the biting thing when I'm around you, and we just got you cured of your wolfish tendencies a few years ago."_

Taking a deep breath, Hermione smiled. At thirty-nine years old, with a four-year-old waiting at home and free of the Werewolf curse (except the telepathy thing, which she found to be both a convenience and an inconvenience at times), she was finally feeling comfortable with the freedom that came with making her own choices—how big a space to live in, what clothes to wear, what food to eat (absolutely no fish!), and especially who to seek out when it came time to finally settling down with a mate, like now.

She did the math in her head. Five years of unrequited love back in school, fifteen trapped in limbo where he'd waited to be reunited with her, and five years post-war for them to learn to be friends and proper lovers. A quarter-century had been enough time to make him truly penitent of his earlier ways, hadn't it?

"Yes, I've decided I definitely want you to be my official mate now."

He let out a deep sigh of relief.

"It's about bloody time, Granger."

His magically shackled wrist came into view, and his very human hand reached out and took hers. When their fingers connected once more, it felt good. It felt right... as it always had.

They turned in silence and departed the cemetery together, anticipation quickening their steps. They left their dead loved ones behind to find some peace in the pale, magical light of the winter's Cold Moon.

 

_**~FIN~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We come to the end of our tale at long last. I know some of you wanted to see this fest piece turned into an epic, complete with battle scenes and Voldemort's final defeat, but to be fair, this was intended all along to be a rather short fest piece (which it wasn't, coming in at almost 30,000 words), and the tale was meant to be a snapshot of this one event: Hermione helping Draco escape his captivity and the death of the Forbidden Forest (a metaphor for Voldemort's days coming to an end). I think you can fill in the rest using your own imagination, and it would probably be better than how I could write it anyway. :)
> 
> Yes, I purposefully left the graveyard scene ambiguous as to whom Hermione is saying 'good-bye' to, but there were plenty of hints there. Can you guess? If you said it was Theo, you would be correct. He was murdered by Zabini... who I envision was later torn to shreds by Hermione.
> 
> No sequel planned. Hope you enjoyed this romp through Prisoner!Hermione/Werewolf!Draco's alternate universe. Leave a review, if you would, and let me know!
> 
> A Big, huge, happy, ecstatic thank you to whoever nominated this story for this round of the HP Fanfic Fan Poll Awards for Best Dark Fic! I am so, so, so, so grateful! *SMOOCHES*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Award banners for this story.

 


End file.
